The  Subjection  of  Isabel  Carnaby 


DSIV.   OF  CALIF.   LIBRARY,  MS  AHGELKT 


THE  SUBJECTION 

=  OF 

ISABEL  CARNABY 


By   ELLEN    THORNEYCROFT    FOWLER 


(MRS.  ALFRED   LAURENCE   FELKIN) 

AUTHOR  OF 

CONCERNING  ISABEL  CARNABY,"    "A  DOUBLE  THREAD," 
"  CUPID'S  GARDEN,"  ETC. 


With  Frond  spiece  in  Color 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  v  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1906,  BY 

ELLEN  THORNEYCROFT  FELKIN 

Published  September,  1906 


2132459 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I     ISABEL'S  GARDEN 


II     FABIA  VIPART        .       ,:      >  >•      t. 

III  THE  SCOURGE  OF  THE  RED  CORD 

IV  THE  GAYTHORNES       ..      >j  >: 

V    POLITICAL  LIFE     ...      >:      i.  t.; 

VI     ISABEL'S  VIEWS      .       >:-     :.:  >;      . 

'     J         ,     J  ;..  .1 

VII     GABRIEL  CARR       .       >       ../  ,./ 

.   i 

VIII    VERNACRE  PARK          .      >  t..      t 

;  i     •. 

IX    GABRIEL  THE  PRIEST    ...      ,.,'  r.: 

X    GABRIEL  THE  PASTOR          .:  w      t 

XI    JANET  FIELD         .       .      ..i  w 

XII    FABIA'S  MARRIAGE       .      >•  >      ! 

XIII  GABRIEL  THE  MAN     >       (.j  w      t 

XIV  THE  LIVING  OF  GAYTHORNE  .. 
XV    THE  LOST  RECTOR      ,-.j      t.i  > 

XVI    FORSAKEN       .      ..      >:      [..  w 
XVII    THE  BEGINNING  OF  TROUBLE         t 

XVIII      DR.    MUKHARJI      .          t.;         r.  >; 

[vii] 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTBR  PAGE 

XIX    WHAT  HAPPENED  IN  PARIS       .       .  .  259 

XX    ISABEL'S  TEMPTATION          ....  273 

XXI     CAPTAIN  GAYTHORNE'S  HORSEWHIP  .  289 

XXII    THE  EFFECT  OF  THE  HORSEWHIP     .  .  303 

XXIII  A  SECOND  GABRIEL      .       .       .      ...  .318 

XXIV  THJS  FIVE  Dors           .      ;.      >      ,.  .  331 

XXV      C-ESAR   COSTELLO               .          .          .          .  .  341 

EPILOGUE      ...      ..       .      ,.      ,.      M  H  349 


THE     SUBJECTION 

OF 

ISABEL     CARNABY 

CHAPTER   I 

ISABEL'S  GARDEN 

IN  the  drawing-room  of  a  house  on  the  north  side  of  Prince's 
Gardens  a  man  and  a  woman  were  seated  one  winter's 
evening  after  dinner.  It  was  not  a  large  room,  and  it  was 
by  no  means  a  unique  one  as  far  as  its  original  structure 
was  concerned,  for  it  was  of  the  orthodox  'L'  shape  which  ob- 
tains so  largely  in  London  drawing-rooms,  excepting  in  those 
of  extremely  recent  manufacture:  but  there  was  that  inde- 
finable air  of  comfort  and  elegance  about  it,  which  certain 
women  have  the  power  to  impart  to  their  dwelling-places. 
It  was  furnished  entirely  with  green — the  most  satisfactory 
of  all  colours  for  that  purpose,  be  the  furniture  that  of  an 
ordinary  dwelling-place,  or  of  Nature's  great  house  not 
made  with  hands:  light  green  paper  of  the  same  hue  as 
beech-trees  in  spring:  dark  green  carpet  and  curtains,  of  the 
same  tint  as  mossy  glades  in  summer :  and  chairs  and  couches 
of  as  many  and  as  varying  shades  of  green  as  are  woods 
when  the  evergreens  and  the  larches  are  struggling  for  a 

[I] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

majority.  Therefore — although  it  was  only  the  beginning 
of  February — spring  was  already  at  home  in  this  London 
drawing-room,  winter  having  been  kept  waiting  outside  ever 
since  the  end  of  October.  There  were  no  outlying  districts 
in  this  room  as  there  are  in  so  many:  the  back  drawing-room 
had  not  been  converted,  as  it  usually  is,  into  a  sort  of  Court 
of  the  Gentiles,  where  outsiders  congregate  on  uncomforta- 
ble chairs  round  an  unused  piano:  but  was  in  its  own  way 
as  much  honoured  and  esteemed  as  the  front  drawing-room 
and  was  considered  quite  as  respectable  a  place  of  residence. 
As  for  the  occupants  of  this  pleasant  room,  the  man — 
somewhere  about  forty  years  of  age — was  tall  and  dark, 
thin  and  thoughtful-looking:  the  type  of  man  who  takes 
life  and  himself  seriously,  and  who  finds  his  sole  recreation 
in  hard  work.  The  woman  was  cast  altogether  in  a  differ- 
ent mould.  She  had  the  rounded  plumpness  which  is  in- 
separable from  a  light-hearted  and  easy-going  disposition: 
and  the  years — whereof  she  boasted  one  or  two  less  than  her 
husband — had  dealt  more  tenderly  with  her  than  with  him. 
She  was  quick  and  active  in  all  her  movements:  but  it  was 
the  activity  of  boundless  energy  rather  than  of  feverish  un- 
rest. Her  dark  hair  showed  no  trace  of  grey,  save  to  her 
own  all-seeing  vision :  and  her  eyes  were  as  bright  and  blue 
as  they  had  been  when  she  was  a  girl.  They  saw  further 
now  than  they  did  then,  perhaps:  but  their  perceptions, 
though  more  acute,  were  less  critical  than  in  the  old  days. 
Although  she  lived  in  an  age  when  domestic  misery  was  the 
fashion,  and  when  happy  marriages  were  as  completely  out- 
of-date  as  crinolines  or  Paisley  shawls,  she  nevertheless  loved 
and  admired  her  husband  with  all  her  heart  and  mind  and 
soul  and  strength.  Otherwise  she  was  as  up-to-date  and  as 
modern  as  it  is  necessary  for  any  woman  to  be. 

[2] 


OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  suddenly  remarked  a  propos  of  her 
own  meditations,  "  that  single  life  is  like  a  road,  and  married 
life  is  like  a  garden." 

"As  how?"  asked  her  husband,  looking  up  from  his 
evening-paper,  which,  after  the  manner  of  men,  he  was  de- 
voutly studying. 

"  Well,  in  this  way,  single  life  is  like  a  road,  because  it 
is  always  leading  on  to  something  else.  It  isn't  meant  to 
be  a  permanent  place  of  residence:  and  people  who  make  it 
so  are  behaving  like  Children  of  Israel  or  gipsies.  They 
ought  to  '  fold  up  their  tents' ;  a  la  Longfellow's  cares  and  the 
Arabs,  and  '  silently  steal  away  ' :  it  is  against  the  rules  not 
to  move  on." 

Paul  Seaton  (that  was  the  name  of  the  man  in  the  green 
drawing-room)  smiled  with  that  indulgent  kind  of  smile 
which  husbands  are  wont  to  use  when  they  think  their 
wives  are  talking  nonsense  and  like  them  all  the  better  for 
it.  "  You  seem  to  consider  single  life  a  somewhat  chilly 
and  uncomfortable  sort  of  business,"  he  remarked. 

"On  the  contrary:  I  think  there  is  a  lot  to  be  said  for 
it  in  its  own  way.  Of  course  it  isn't  as  cosey  and  settled 
and  living-on-your-own-propertyish  as  marriage:  you  must 
see  that  for  yourself.  But  it  is  more  exciting,  because  it  is 
always  the  way  to  somewhere  else,  and  you  are  never  quite 
sure  where  the  next  turn  of  the  road  will  take  you.  It  is 
not  only  a  road ;  it  is  a  road  where  all  the  fingerposts  are 
pure  guesswork." 

"  But  the  milestones  are  not." 

Mrs.  Seaton  sighed.  "  No :  worse  luck !  The  milestones 
are  dreadfully  pronounced  and  staring  before  you  are  mar- 
ried, and  are  always  coming  to  meet  you  and  then  hitting 
you  in  the  face.  After  you  are  married  they  seem  to  get 

[3] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

a  bit  moss-grown,  and  you  don't  notice  them  nearly  so  much. 
Yes:  the  portentous  ominousness  of  the  milestones  is  one  of 
the  greatest  disadvantages  of  single  life:  but  this  has  its 
advantages  all  the  same." 

"  What  else,  in  addition  to  the  mystery  hidden  round 
the  next  corner?  " 

"  Oh !  the  delicious  stranger-and-sojourner  feeling  that 
things  are  more  or  less  temporary,  and  so  don't  matter.  You 
can  put  up  with  lots  of  little  inconveniences  in  a  wayside 
inn  that  you  couldn't  tolerate  for  a  moment  in  your  own 
house.  It  is  really  the  picnic  instinct  that  imbues  you  as 
long  as  you  are  single  —  the  same  instinct  that  causes 
water  boiled  out-of-doors  on  a  fire  of  your  own  lighting,  to 
make  so  much  nicer  tea  than  water  boiled  in  the  kitchen 
kettle." 

"  But  I  don't  think  it  does." 

Isabel  shook  her  head  reprovingly.  "  That  is  because  you 
are  getting  old,  and  have  got  married,  and  the  domestic 
instinct  in  your  character  has  crowded  out  the  picnic  in- 
stinct." 

Seaton  laughed  but  he  listened.  He  was  one  of  those 
rare  men  (or  is  it  rather  the  husbands  of  the  rare  women?) 
who  find  the  conversation  of  their  wives  more  interesting 
than  the  newspaper. 

"  You  see,"  Mrs.  Seaton  continued,  "  I  married  late 
enough  to  know  what  both  single  and  married  life  are  like, 
so  I  can  speak  as  an  expert  in  both." 

"  Still,  the  fact  that  you  knew  nothing  about  either 
wouldn't  have  prevented  you  from  doing  that,"  retorted 
her  husband  drily. 

"  Oh,  Paul,  how  rude  you  are — and  just  when  I  am  talk- 
ing so  nicely  and  intelligently  to  you,  too !  " 

[4] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  Intelligently  I  admit,  but  hardly  nicely.  You  are  now 
cutting  me  to  the  heart  with  your  insinuations  that  when 
single  life  is  bliss  'tis  folly  to  be  married.  You  cannot  ex- 
pect your  loving  husband  exactly  to  relish  these  panegyrics 
on  single  blessedness." 

"  They  aren't  panegyrics — they  are  merely  statistics  just 
to  teach  you  the  difference  between  being  married  and 
single." 

"  Good  heavens,  I  don't  want  teaching  that !  I  know  it 
only  too  well  by  experience !  "  And  Paul  Seaton  laughed 
the  contented  laugh  of  the  man  who  has  attained  his  heart's 
desire.  "  But  I  wish  you'd  say  something  now  on  the  other 
side — something  in  favour  of  the  holy  estate,  don't  you 
know?  This  present  attitude  of  mind  is  really  most  depress- 
ing to  me!  " 

"  I'm  going  to,  only  you  are  always  in  such  a  hurry  to 
express  your  own  opinions  that  you  never  give  me  time  to 
get  a  word  in  edgeways." 

"  Excuse  me,  my  love :  I  have  never  yet  expressed  my  own 
opinion  upon  matrimony.  I  should  consider  it  impolite  to 
do  so  in  present  company." 

The  lady  tried  not  to  laugh,  but  failed.  The  affection 
between  Paul  Seaton  and  his  wife  was  so  great  and  the 
camaraderie  so  perfect,  that  they  could  afford  to  make  fun 
of  each  other  now  and  then :  but  they  took  care  never  to  do 
so  before  a  third  person.  It  is  a  mistake  for  husbands  and 
wives  to  chaff  each  other  in  the  presence  of  an  audience. 
Brothers  and  sisters  can  do  so  as  much  as  they  like:  and, 
as  a  rule,  the  more  they  do  it  the  fonder  of  each  other 
they  are:  but  with  married  people  it  is  different.  They 
have  the  dignity  of  an  office  to  maintain — the  sanctity 
of  a  covenant  to  keep:  and  it  does  not  do  for  them  to 

[5] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

treat  such  things  lightly,  when  the  eye  of  Europe  is  upon 
them:  it  is  only  when  they  are  en  tete-a-tete  that  they  may 
safely  unbend,  and  may  confess  to  themselves  and  to  each 
other  that  there  is  a  great  deal  that  is  very  funny  in 
both  of  them.  Which  undoubtedly  there  is,  whoever  they 
may  be. 

"  After  all,"  admitted  Isabel,  "  although  there  is  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  very  nice  excitement  in  living  -on  a  road 
which  leads  to  nobody  knows  where,  it  is  the  sort  of  excite- 
ment that  palls  after  a  time.  People  get  tired  of  not  know- 
ing what  is  going  to  happen  next.  That  is  why  hardly 
anybody  really  enjoys  a  story  that  comes  out  m  a  serial: 
ordinary  human  nature  likes  to  be  in  a  position  to  peep  at 
the  end  whenever  it  thinks  fit.  Hence  the  popularity  of 
palmists  and  fortune-tellers  and  crystal  balls." 

"  I  understand.  And  it  is  when  the  road  becomes  too 
vague  and  unsettled  that  the  garden  comes  in." 

"  Precisely.  And  the  garden  is  all  that  the  road  is 
not  and  never  can  be — peaceful  and  guarded  and  final  and 
secure." 

"  And  circumscribed,"  added  Paul. 

"  Yes :  but  I  don't  know  that  it  is  any  the  worse  for  that 
— especially  for  women." 

Seaton  rose  from  his  chair,  came  across  the  room  to  where 
his  wife  was  sitting,  and  began  to  stroke  her  hair.  His  face 
was  grave — almost  sad.  He  was  wondering  whether  after 
all  Isabel  was  contented  with  her  part  of  the  bargain: 
whether  his  love  was  sufficient  to  compensate  her  for  the 
gaiety  and  luxury  and  excitement  she  had  given  up  when  she 
married  him.  Though  they  had  enough  to  live  upon  even 
when  Paul  was  out  of  office,  they  were  by  no  means  rich 
people:  compared  with  the  majority  of  their  world 

[6] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

necessarily  led  a  quiet  life.  And  Isabel  Carnaby  had  been 
denied  no  possible  luxury  or  excitement  in  the  days  when 
she  lived  with  her  uncle  and  aunt,  Sir  Benjamin  and  Lady 
Farley.  Her  life  then — both  out  in  India,  when  Sir  Benja- 
min held  a  Governorship,  and  afterwards  in  London  and  at 
Elton  Manor — had  been  one  long  round  of  gaiety  and 
pleasure:  and  Paul  was  sometimes  afraid  that  she  might  find 
the  contrast  between  the  past  and  the  present  too  great — 
that  she  was  too  modern  a  woman  for  marriage  completely 
to  satisfy  her,  as  it  had  satisfied  her  grandmothers.  Wherein 
he  showed  that,  for  all  his  love,  he  did  not  yet  entirely 
understand  his  wife. 

"  So  the  garden  is  duller  than  the  road,"  he  said :  and  his 
voice  had  a  pathetic  ring  in  it. 

"  Perhaps:  that  is  to  say  it  has  fewer  possibilities  and 
less  adventures." 

"  And  it  doesn't  lead  anywhere." 

"  Yes,  it  does,"  whispered  Isabel,  nestling  up  to  him :  "  it 
leads  home." 

"  It  is  home,"  he  answered  as  he  stooped  and  kissed  her: 
"  but  all  the  same  I  am  afraid  you  find  it  a  little  dull  at 
times,  my  darling." 

"  That's  a  man  all  over !  Men  never  understand  how 
much  we  say  and  how  little  we  mean:  they  have  no  atmos- 
phere in  their  minds.  If  you  remark  that  you  want  a  bit 
of  fancy  work  just  to  keep  your  fingers  employed,  they  think 
that  you  are  miserable  in  your  marriage  and  are  striving  to 
deaden  your  anguish  by  ceaseless  toil :  and  if  you  say  you 
feel  as  if  you  couldn't  walk  another  thirty  miles  or  so  after 
a  hard  day's  exercise,  they  think  you  are  dying  of  exhaustion 
and  ought  to  have  an  injection  of  strychnine." 

"Well,  I  can't  help  being  a  man:  I  was  born  so:  conse- 

[7] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

quently,  when  you  talk  about  marriage  being  a  horrid  sort 
of  walled-in  kitchen-garden,  I  naturally  fear  that  you  are 
finding  it  dull." 

"  Oh,  Paul,  you  are  silly — you  really  are!  I  don't  find  it 
an  atom  dull — I  adore  it.  But  you  must  see  for  yourself 
that  a  garden  is — is — well,  a  garden  is  a  garden."  Isabel 
had  not  intended  to  finish  her  sentence  thus  lamely:  but 
experience  had  taught  her  that  when  people  are  in  a  sensitive 
mood  the  less  one  says  to  them  the  better.  Explanations 
rarely  explain  anything:  therefore  wise  persons  avoid  them  as 
much  as  possible.  She  held  her  peace  for  fear  of  hurting 
her  husband's  feelings:  but  she  succeeded  in  doing  so  never- 
theless. 

"Just  so,"  was  all  he  said:  but  he  said  it  in  rather  an 
injured  tone. 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  darling,"  she  begged,  rubbing  her 
cheek  against  his  hand.  "  Don't  you  see  that  when  God  made 
man  perfectly  happy,  He  planted  him  in  a  garden:  and 
when  He  wanted  to  punish  him  He  turned  him  out  to  a 
thorny  and  thistly  highway?  So  there's  really  nothing  un- 
kind to  you  in  my  comparing  marriage  to  a  garden — in  fact, 
quite  the  reverse." 

"  I  see,"  replied  Paul  drily. 

1  No,  you  don't.  Whenever  you  say  '  I  see '  in  that  par- 
ticular tone  of  voice,  it  always  means  that  you  see  something 
which  isn't  there." 

Paul  smiled  in  spite  of  himself.  "  Well,  what  is  all  this 
leading  up  to,  I  should  like  to  know?  "  ' 

"  That's  what  I'm  coming  to.  A  garden,  to  be  a  really 
nice  dressy  garden,  must  have  things  in  it,  don't  you  see — 
heaps  and  heaps  of  things?  It  wants  a  lot  more  furnishing 
than  a  road  does.  As  long  as  the  road  has  good  high  hedges 

[8] 


OF   ISABEL    CARNABY 

on  either  side  to  keep  travellers  from  going  where  they 
ought  not  to,  it  needn't  have  flowers  or  fountains  or  shrubs, 
or  rockeries,  because  people  merely  regard  it  as  a  means  to 
an  end,  and  so  don't  mind  if  it  is  a  bit  sketchy.  But  when 
you've  got  a  garden  of  your  own,  and  mean  to  spend  the 
rest  of  your  life  there,  you  naturally  want  to  fill  it  with 
all  sorts  of  beautiful  things." 

Isabel  paused  to  take  breath,  but  Paul  did  not  speak. 

"How  nice  of  you  to  keep  quiet  and  listen!"  she  re- 
marked approvingly.  "  That  is  where  men  are  so  much 
more  restful  to  live  with  than  women :  they  let  you  say  what 
you  want  to  say  without  eternally  trying  to  poke  their  own 
oars  in.  You  see,"  she  continued,  "  other  women  have  chil- 
dren and  careers  and  parishes  and  school-boards  and  all 
sorts  of  things  to  furnish  their  gardens  and  keep  them  from 
seeming  empty:  but  I  haven't."  Unconsciously  her  voice 
quivered  as  she  said  the  word  '  children.'  She  did  not  notice 
it  herself:  but  Paul  did. 

"  My  poor  darling!  "  he  said:  and  again  laid  a  caressing 
hand  upon  the  neat  brown  head. 

Isabel  thrilled  at  his  touch,  and  in  the  same  breath  hoped 
that  he  wasn't  roughing  her  hair  much:  she  prided  herself 
upon  always  being  a  very  spick-and-span  person.  "  I'm  not 
poor  at  all,"  she  retorted :  "  I've  got  you." 

"But  I  don't  seem  to  be  large  enough  for  the  place  some- 
how. That's  where  the  tragedy  comes  in." 

"  Yes,  you  are :  you  are  more  than  enough,  if  only  I  could 
see  enough  of  you:  but  I  can't.  If  I  could  always  be  with 
you  I  should  never  want  anything  or  anybody  else,  even  for 
five  minutes:  you'd  furnish  any  garden  as  completely  as  a 
cedar-tree  does.  But  you  are  so  busy  with  Houses  of  Com- 
mons and  War  Offices  and  tiresome  old  things  of  that  sort.. 

[9] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

that  often  you  haven't  time  to  attend  to  me.  And  it  is 
then  that  the  garden  seems  a  bit  empty." 

"  My  poor  darling!  "  Paul  repeated. 

Isabel  rattled  on :  "I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  see  what 
any  woman  can  want  in  addition  to  a  husband,  if  the  hus- 
band is  anything  like  you,  and  if  he  is  always  with  her:  but 
if  she  is  married  to  an  alibi,  absentee-landlord  sort  of  a 
person,  who  is  always  somewhere  else  than  where  she  is  at 
the  time,  she  wants  something  to  fill  up  the  intervals — like 
those  funny  little  street  scenes  in  Shakespeare's  plays,  while 
the  scenery  is  being  changed." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  do  leave  you  alone  a  good  bit,"  replied 
her  husband  with  a  sigh :  "  but  I  cannot  help  it.  You  know 
that,  don't  you,  my  darling?  " 

"  I  think  you  could  help  it  more  than  you  do,  if  only  you 
hadn't  such  an  elephant  of  a  conscience  and  such  a  hippo- 
potamus of  a  sense  of  duty.  What  on  earth's  the  good  of 
a  man's  being  always  at  his  post,  when  the  post  happens  to 
be  a  Government  Office?  Posts  can  stand  still  by  them- 
selves, without  wanting  anybody  to  help  them.  It  is  what 
they  were  made  for:  that  and  deafness:  and  when  you  say 
'  as  deaf  as  a  post,'  you  mean  as  deaf  as  a  post  in  the  Govern- 
ment, because  they  never  listen  to  suggestions  nor  hear  com- 
plaints. But  that's  neither  here  nor  there."  And  Isabel 
pursed  up  her  lips  and  nodded  her  head  with  the  air  of  one 
who  could  say  a  good  deal  more  if  she  chose. 

"  Well,  what  is  the  particular  new  toy  that  you  want 
just  now  for  the  furnishing  of  your  garden?"  asked  Paul. 
"  I  am  certain  that  you  have  one  in  your  eye  at  the  present 
moment."  He  knew  his  Isabel. 

"Right  as  usual!     It's  a  girl — an  Anglo-Indian  girl." 

Seaton   fairly  jumped.      Isabel   rarely  succeeded   in   sur- 

[10] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

prising  him  or  taking  him  unawares:  he  was  pretty  well 
accustomed  to  her  vagaries  by  now.  But  she  did  this  time. 
"A  girl?  Good  gracious!  What  in  the  name  of  fortune 
do  you  want  with  a  girl  ?  " 

"  Lots  of  things.  I  want  to  instruct  her  and  amuse  her 
and  entertain  her  and  finally  marry  her." 

"  Who  on  earth  do  you  want  to  marry  her  to?  " 

"  Several  people." 

"  You'll  find  it  rather  difficult  to  manage  that,  the  present 
marriage  laws  being  as  narrow  and  antiquated  as  they  are." 

"  Paul,  don't  be  silly!  What  I  mean  is  that  I've  several 
people  in  my  eye  that  I  think  would  do  for  her:  and  I  shall 
let  her  choose  which." 

"That  is  very  generous  of  you,  my  sweet!  But  won't 
they  have  a  say  in  the  matter?  " 

"  Oh !  that's  their  lookout.     I  can't  bother  about  them." 

"Who  are  they?" 

"  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you." 

"  Please  do.    I'm  dying  to  know." 

But  Isabel  stood  firm.  "  Nothing  would  induce  me  to 
tell  you." 

"  You'd  better.  It  would  make  you  feel  much  more 
comfortable  in  your  own  mind." 

"My  mind  is  quite  comfortable  already,  thank  you:  if 
anything,  too  luxurious." 

"  And  it  would  amuse  me  immensely." 

Now  it  is  always  difficult  for  a  woman  to  refrain  from 
telling  her  husband  anything  that  she  thinks  will  amuse 
him:  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred  it  is  impossible. 
But  this  happened  to  be  the  hundredth.  "  I'm  not  going  to 
tell  you,"  Isabel  repeated  sternly:  "  at  least,  not  yet." 

Paul's  eye  twinkled.     He  knew  that  time,  which  reveals 

[II] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

all  secrets,  was  particularly  rapid  in  revealing  Isabel's.  But 
all  he  said  was :  "  Then,  if  I  may  not  know  the  name  of 
the  happy  man,  may  I  know  that  of  the  girl  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes!  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that.  It  is  Fabia 
Vipart." 

"  And  who,  in  the  name  of  all  that's  wonderful,  is  Fabia 
Vipart?" 

"  Her  father  was  a  Major  Vipart  in  the  Indian  Army : 
and  her  mother  was  a  Hindoo — at  least,  her  grandmother 
was :  and  they  are  both  dead." 

"  Both  her  grandmothers  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not :  they  must  have  been  dead  for  ages : 
grandmothers  nearly  always  are,  I  mean  her  parents." 

"  How  very  sad  for  the  girl — at  least,  presumably  so ! 
But  how  did  you  get  to  know  her,  Isabel  ?  " 

"  I  knew  her  father  out  in  India  when  I  was  living  there 
with  the  Farleys.  He  wanted  to  marry  me." 

"  An  Oriental  custom,  I  suppose.  And  did  the  Hindoo 
lady  object?  " 

"Oh,  Paul,  how  silly  you  are!  He  was  a  widower,  of 
course." 

"  Why  '  of  course  '  ?  I  wasn't  aware  there  was  anything 
especially  ephemeral  about  Hindoo  ladies." 

"  I  said  '  of  course,'  because  if  he  hadn't  been  a  widower 
he  wouldn't  have  wanted  to  marry  me." 

"  I  fail  to  see  the  logic  of  that.  /  wasn't  a  widower  and 
I  wanted  to  marry  you.  I  never  knew  that  you  set  up  for 
being  an  emporium  of  only  second-hand  goods." 

"  I  daresay  if  you  had  been  a  widower,  you'd  have  had 
more  wisdom — or  perhaps  I  should  say  experience — than  to 
want  to  marry  me,"  suggested  Isabel  slily. 

"  Not  I,  my  own !     I  should  always  have  been  a  fool 

[12] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

where  you  were  concerned.  But  to  return  to  Miss  Fabia. 
I  gather  that  when  you  knew  Major  Vipart,  the  Hindoo 
lady — like  Wordsworth's  Lucy — had  ceased  to  be." 

"  She'd  been  dead  for  years.  And,  besides,  as  I've  ex- 
plained to  you,  she  wasn't  a  Hindoo  at  all :  her  mother  was." 

"  Then  is  Miss  Fabia  black?  " 

"  Good  gracious,  no !  "  exclaimed  Isabel.  "  Her  hair  is 
dark,  of  course,  but  not  as  black  as " 

"  It  is  painted :  probably  not.     Many  women's  aren't." 

"When  I  was  out  in  India  she  was  quite  a  child;  a 
cream-coloured  child  with  huge  brown  eyes.  She  always 
reminded  me  of  a  dress  I  had  of  cream  satin  trimmed  with 
brown  velvet.  It  was  a  very  pretty  dress!  "  And  Isabel's 
face  grew  soft  with  that  tender  expression  which  a  woman's 
face  always  wears  when  she  is  recalling  bygone  garments 
that  became  her  well. 

"  It  must  have  been :  and  the  prettiest  bit  was  the  lining, 
as  our  old  nurse  Martha  used  to  say.  She  never  said  it  of 
my  clothes  or  of  Joanna's,  by  the  way :  it  was  generally  upon 
Alice  Martin's  wardrobe  that  this  criticism  was  passed,  if 
I  remember  rightly.  Joanna  and  I  were  plain  children: 
and  it  was  considered  conducive  to  our  eternal  salvation  to 
make  us  believe  that  we  were  even  plainer  than  we  were. 
Which  really  was  an  act  of  supererogation." 

"  You  never  were  plain,  Paul !  "  exclaimed  Isabel  indig- 
nantly. "  I  won't  let  anybody  say  such  things  of  my  hus- 
band :  not  even  you." 

"  Nevertheless  it  is  true,  sweetheart.  I  was  an  ugly  little 
beggar  in  those  days,  and  a  prig  at  that.  But  we  are  wander- 
ing from  Miss  Fabia.  Her  father  wanted  to  marry  you, 
you  say.  He  was  evidently  a  sensible  man,  whatever  her 
mother  may  have  been." 

[13] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

"  Her  mother  couldn't  help  being  a  Hindoo,"  retorted 
Isabel  rather  huffily.  It  always  annoyed  her  when  English 
people  spoke  disrespectfully  of  foreign  races. 

"  But  you  have  just  said  that  she  not  only  could  help  it, 
but  did." 

"  Oh,  Paul,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  quibble  in  that  silly 
way,  when  I  am  trying  to  talk  to  you  seriously!  It  was  the 
grandmother  that  couldn't  help  being  a  Hindoo,  and  Fabia 
could  help  it  even  less:  and  yet  people  were  very  horrid  to 
Fabia  about  it,  and  to  her  father  too." 

"All  right:  I  understand.  Miss  Fabia's  grandmother 
could  no  more  help  being  a  Hindoo  than  her  father  could 
help  wanting  to  marry  you.  Poor  beggar!  I'm  the  last 
man  to  blame  him.  But  now  where  does  the  girl  come  in, 
and  what  is  her  connexion  with  the  allegory  of  the  marriage- 
market — I  mean  the  marriage-market-garden  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  have  heard  through  Aunt  Farley,  who 
still  corresponds  with  a  host  of  people  out  in  India,  that 
Fabia  is  extremely  anxious  to  come  to  England  for  a  time, 
to  see  wrhat  English  society  is  like.  So  I  thought  it  would 
be  rather  nice  if  I  had  her  here  for  a  few  months,  and 
trotted  her  about  and  showed  her  round." 

"  And  then  instructed  and  entertained  and  finally  married 
her  to  that  nameless  knight  whom  you  have  in  your  eye. 
Now  at  last  I  begin  to  master  the  programme." 

"  You  wouldn't  mind  having  her  here,  would  you,  dar- 
ling? "  asked  Isabel  in  a  coaxing  voice. 

"  I  shouldn't  mind  anything  that  gave  you  pleasure,  my 
dearest — not  even  a  girl,  though  I  own  I  am  not  very  keen 
upon  them  as  a  rule." 

"  Well,  it  would  give  me  a  good  deal  of  pleasure  to  take 
a  young  girl  about,  and  watch  her  go  through  all  the  phases 

[14] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

that  I've  been  through  myself.  It  would  be  such  fun  teach- 
ing her  all  the  things  that  I've  learnt  by  experience." 

"  She  wouldn't  learn  much  that  way,  my  sweet :  nobody 
does.  But  that  needn't  interfere  with  your  pleasure  in  teach- 
ing her." 

"  It  wouldn't.  She  is  quite  young — not  much  over  twenty 
I  should  think :  so  I  shall  be  able  to  do  whatever  I  like  with 
her.  It  isn't  likely  a  girl  of  that  age  will  have  many  plans 
and  interests  of  her  own  as  yet." 

"  You  must  remember,  Isabel,  that  she  probably  will  not 
look  at  life  through  your  eyes,  as  you  seem  to  expect:  and 
you  must  not  be  disappointed  if  she  doesn't." 

"  She  will  look  at  life  very  much  as  I  looked  at  it  when 
I  was  her  age,"  replied  Isabel,  with  a  characteristic  toss  of 
her  head.  "  You  may  know  more  about  politics  than  I  do, 
my  dear  Paul,  but  you  can't  possibly  know  as  much  about 
girls." 

"  Thank  heaven  for  that!  But  I  know  a  good  deal  about 
one  woman,  and  I  think  you  make  a  mistake  in  expecting 
other  people  to  be  exactly  like  yourself:  because  unfor- 
tunately they  are  not." 

"  Perhaps  I  am  inclined  to  think  too  highly  of  my  fellow- 
creatures,"  replied  Isabel  demurely:  "  but  it  is  a  good  fault." 

"  It  is  an  absolutely  charming  fault,  as  all  yours  are,  my 
darling,"  said  Seaton,  kissing  his  wife.  "  But  I  must  be  off 
to  the  House.  Invite  your  little  Indian  girl  by  all  means: 
but  don't  be  disappointed  if  she  doesn't  turn  out  to  be  as 
absolutely  adorable  as  you  are  yourself:  because  neither  she 
nor  anybody  else  possibly  could." 

Thus  it  was  settled  that  Fabia  Vipart  should  come  to 
stay  with  the  Paul  Seatons  for  the  following  season:  and 
Isabel  wrote  out  by  the  next  mail  to  make  all  the  necessary 

[15] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

arrangements.  Would  she  have  written  quite  so  glibly  had 
she  known  all  the  trouble  that  ^e  coming  of  Fabia  would 
involve?  Perhaps  not.  And  yet  if  we  were  always  pre- 
vented from  doing  anything  for  fear  of  possible  consequences 
• — if  we  were  always  letting  '  I  dare  not '  wait  upon  '  I 
would,'  like  the  cat  i'  the  adage — then  not  many  a  thing 
would  be  done  when  'twere  done,  and  nothing  would  be 
done  quickly. 


[16] 


CHAPTER    II 

FABIA    VIPART 

A  NATIVE  gentleman,  dressed  in  European  costume,  was 
sitting  alone  in  the  drawing-room  of  an  Indian  bungalow. 
He  was  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  with  the  narrow  figure 
and  small  hands  and  feet  of  the  true  Oriental.  His  head 
was  likewise  small,  and  his  hair  absolutely  black.  No  beard 
or  moustache  hid  his  firm  yet  delicately  moulded  mouth  and 
chin:  and  the  upper  part  of  his  face  showed  considerable 
fineness  of  form.  A  handsome  man,  undoubtedly;  but  with 
the  beauty  of  the  East  rather  than  of  the  West :  a  man  like- 
wise of  considerable  fascination :  but  whose  charm  had  some- 
thing weird  and  uncanny  about  it.  He  was  one  of  those 
who  strive  to  lift  the  veil  of  the  great  temple  of  Nature 
and  to  pry  into  her  hidden  places;  and  he  had  succeeded  in 
wresting  from  her  certain  of  those  secrets,  which  she,  in  her 
wise  and  tender  motherhood,  keeps,  as  a  rule,  concealed  from 
the  sons  and  daughters  of  men.  This  meddling  with  the 
occult  had  left  its  mark  upon  him;  had  set  him  apart,  as  it 
were,  from  the  common  herd,  and  had  loosened  those  bonds 
of  sympathy  which  bind  ordinary  men  and  women  to  each 
other  in  this  workaday  world:  so  that  people  felt  awe  for 
him  rather  than  affection,  and  found  him  fascinating  rather 
than  lovable. 

The  house  in  which  he  was  sitting  was  not  his  own,  for 
it  was  full  of  signs  of  feminine  habitation :  and  Ram  Chan- 
dar  Mukharji  was  a  bachelor.  It  was  the  house  of  his  dis- 

[17] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

tant  cousin,  Fabia  Vipart,  whom  he  had  called  to  see:  and 
for  whose  appearance  he  was  now  patiently  waiting.  And, 
like  all  Orientals,  he  had  mastered  the  art  of  patient  wait- 
ing. He  did  not  fidget  about  the  room,  as  an  Englishman 
in  the  same  circumstances  would  have  done,  trying  to  find 
some  book  or  newspaper  to  while  away  the  time  lest  one 
minute  of  it  should  be  lost — that  is  to  say,  should  be  unoc- 
cupied with  outside  interests:  but  he  sat  quite  still,  absorbed 
in  his  own  thoughts,  with  a  stillness  unknown  to  the  chil- 
dren of  the  Western  races. 

Presently  the  swish  of  silken  skirts  was  heard  approaching, 
and  Miss  Vipart  entered  the  room.  Then  for  the  first  time 
the  face  of  the  man  showed  signs  of  animation,  being  illu- 
minated with  the  light  of  a  great  joy  that  was  all  the  more 
intense  for  being  silent. 

"  Good  morning,  Fabia,"  he  said,  as  he  took  her  slim 
brown  hand  in  his  own.  His  voice  was  as  soft  and  silken 
in  its  tone  as  was  the  rustle  of  his  cousin's  skirts:  as  sweet, 
in  fact,  as  a  woman's. 

"  Good  morning,  Ram  Chandar.  I  am  glad  you  have 
come,  because  I  want  particularly  to  see  you.  I  have  some- 
thing to  tell  you." 

"  Of  course  I  came:  I  am  always  coming:  I  only  live  in 
order  to  come  here,  and  I  only  go  away  in  order  to  have 
the  pleasure  of  coming  again." 

Fabia  smiled  and  sank  down  into  a  low  chair,  stretching 
out  her  slender  form  luxuriously.  It  would  have  been  ap- 
parent to  the  most  casual  observer  that  those  two  belonged 
not  only  to  the  same  race,  but  also  to  the  same  family,  there 
was  such  a  strong  resemblance  between  them.  But  the  in- 
fusion of  English  blood  in  the  girl's  case  placed  the  balance 
of  beauty  on  her  side.  She  was  some  twenty  years  younger 

[.8] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

than  her  cousin,  which  is  always  physically  an  advantage: 
but  in  addition  to  this  she  had  inherited  something  of  her 
father's  fibre.  Though  equally  slender,  she  was  taller  for 
a  woman  than  Mukharji  was  for  a  man:  as  they  stood 
together  their  eyes  were  almost  on  a  level.  While  his  hair 
was  a  dead  black,  hers  was  a  dusky  brown,  relieved  by  in- 
numerable lights  and  shadows.  Her  nose  and  mouth  were 
as  finely  formed  as  his:  but  in  place  of  his  thin  and  colour- 
less lips,  hers  were  a  ripe  crimson.  They  had  the  same  full 
forehead  and  flashing  eyes:  but  the  expression  of  their  faces 
was  totally  different.  There  was  no  doubt  that  Ram  Chan- 
dar  was  a  handsome  man :  but  Fabia  was  an  exceptionally 
beautiful  woman.  Beautiful  indeed  as  a  dream:  but  with 
something  serpentine  in  the  quality  of  her  beauty — some- 
thing snakelike  in  the  perfection  of  her  grace. 

"  I  have  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  and  her  voice,  too,  was  like 
his  in  its  softness  of  tone  and  slowness  of  movement:  "  that 
I  am  going  away:  going  away  to  England." 

The  man  sat  still  and  did  not  speak.  But  his  silence  was 
heavy  with  the  weight  of  suppressed  passion. 

Fabia  did  not  trouble  to  look  at  him.  These  two  knew 
each  other  so  well  that  words — even  looks — were  unneces- 
sary between  them.  "  I  am  weary  of  the  life  here,"  the 
girl  went  on :  "  weary  of  the  routine  and  the  emptiness  and 
the  frivolity;  weary  most  of  all  of  the  contempt  of  the 
Anglo-Indians,  as  they  call  themselves.  So  I  am  going  to 
England." 

Then  at  last  the  man  spoke.    "  You  will  hate  it." 

"  I  think  not.  I  am  partly  English  myself,  you  see,  and 
the  English  part  of  me  is  homesick  for  England.  I  can  feel 
my  father  in  me  crying  out  to  return  to  his  native  land." 

"  You  say  the  English  out  here  despise  you.     If  they  do, 

[19] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

what  matters  it?  They  are  but  pariahs  and  ctogs.  But 
still,  if  they  do  so  here,  will  they  not  do  so  also  in  England ; 
and  shall  you  like  it  any  better  there  than  here  ?  " 

"  You  are  wrong,  Ram  Chandar :  there  is  none  of  that 
prejudice  in  England  that  there  is  here  against  people  of 
mixed  races.  I  have  talked  to  men  and  women  fresh  from 
England,  and  I  know.  They  will  admire  me  all  the  more 
for  it — for  that  and  for  my  beauty.  They  are  so  common- 
place themselves,  those  English,  that  they  are  ready  to  fall 
down  and  worship  whatever  is  out  of  the  common:  so  that 
pure  whiteness  here  and  mixed  whiteness  in  England  are 
equally  worthy  of  their  adoration." 

Mukharji  did  not  speak:  but  he  fixed  his  wonderful  eyes 
on  the  girl  and  willed  her  to  tell  him  all  that  was  in  her 
thoughts. 

She  moved  her  head  restlessly  under  his  gaze  for  half  a 
minute:  then  she  answered  him  as  if  he  had  spoken.  "  I 
do  not  wish  to  keep  anything  from  you:  I  will  tell  you  all 
that  is  in  my  heart.  There  never  have  been  any  secrets  be- 
tween you  and  me." 

"  There  never  can  be.  I  can  read  your  soul,  my  child, 
as  I  read  an  open  book.  And  I  tell  you  that  you  will  hate 
those  English  when  you  see  them  in  their  own  land." 

"  I  think  not:  I  think  not,  Ram  Chandar.  If  I  do  not 
hate  them  now  when  they  look  down  on  me,  why  should  I 
hate  them  when  they  adore  me?  For  I  mean  them  to  adore 
me:  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  that:  and  what  I  intend, 
that  I  always  accomplish." 

Again  the  man  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  girl  without  speak- 
ing: and  again  she  moved  restlessly,  yet  with  infinite  grace. 
She  was  one  of  those  rare  women  whose  every  movement 
is  in  itself  a  thing  of  beauty. 

[20] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  I  despise  them  too  utterly  to  hate  them,"  she  continued: 
"  but  I  want  to  show  them  my  power — to  lord  it  over  them 
as  they  now  try  to  lord  it  over  me.  And,  although  I  despise 
them,  they  have  a  certain  interest  and  charm  for  me:  I  admire 
their  big  bodies  and  their  fair  complexions,  and  it  amuses 
me  to  trifle  with  their  shallow,  little  souls." 

"  You  had  far  better  stay  here,  Fabia — among  your  own 
people  who  understand  you." 

"  Among  my  grandmother's  people,  you  mean :  you  forget 
that  I  am  more  than  half  English." 

He  did  not  forget:  he  never  forgot  that  Fabia  belonged 
quite  as  much  to  the  alien  race  as  to  his  own:  and  he  was 
deeply  and  bitterly  jealous  of  the  foreigners  in  consequence. 

For  once  the  impenetrable  veil  of  his  reserve  was  lifted. 
"  Fabia,  do  not  go,"  he  entreated,  and  this  time  there  was 
passion  in  his  voice  as  well  as  in  his  eyes.  "  Stay  here  and 
be  my  wife.  I  love  you  Fabia:  I  have  always  loved  you: 
you  are  part  of  my  very  soul." 

Then  at  last  the  girl  turned  lazily  in  her  chair  and  looked 
at  him:  and  once  more  he  forced  the  truth  from  her  by  the 
strength  of  his  will.  "  I  cannot  marry  you,  Ram  Chandar : 
I  do  not  love  you :  you  are  too  much  like  myself.  If  I  marry, 
I  should  like  to  marry  a  big  strong  Englishman  with  a  fair 
complexion,  and  a  big  heart.  If  I  married  you,  you  would 
want  to  be  my  slave — and  I  should  not  like  that  at  all. 
But  the  big  strong  Englishman  would  be  my  master,  and 
would  do  with  me  whatsoever  he  would.  He  would  know 
none  of  my  thoughts,  but  I  should  know  all  of  his ;  and  yet 
he  would  be  the  master,  because  he  would  be  strong  and 
stupid.  In  this  world  strength  and  stupidity  are  the  great 
ruling  powers;  nothing  can  stand  against  them.  And  I 
should  hate  him  for  ruling  over  me,  Ram  Chandar — oh! 

[21] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

yes,  I  should  hate  him:  but  I  should  adore  him  for  it  all 
the  same." 

She  paused,  but  the  man  made  no  reply:  then — as  if  im- 
pelled by  some  power  stronger  than  herself — she  went  on: 
"  And  although  I  despise  them,  I  resent  their  contempt  for 
me.  I  want  to  be  one  of  themselves,  and  to  share  their 
privileges,  and  to  hurt  them  as  they  have  hurt  me  and  my 
mother  before  me.  Ram  Chandar,  I  must  go,  even  if  only 
for  a  short  time." 

"  If  you  go,  you  will  never  come  back." 

"  In  that  case  you  can  come  to  me." 

"Perhaps  so:  perhaps  not.  That  is  as  Fate  wills.  But 
what  about  all  that  I  have  taught  you,  Fabia?  What  about 
all  those  hidden  things  to  which  no  woman's  mind  save  yours 
has  ever  been  opened  ?  Is  all  this  to  be  wasted,  because  you 
choose  to  live  among  English  dogs  who  have  no  thoughts 
beyond  their  own  vile  bodies,  and  to  whom  the  world  of 
spirits  is  for  ever  closed  ?  " 

"  Not  necessarily." 

"  It  will  be — and  necessarily.  But  I  will  waste  no  more 
breath  in  argument.  Your  mind  is  made  up  and  nothing 
xvill  turn  you:  you  were  not  even  half  a  Mukharji  if  it 
would.  I  loved  your  mother,  and  she  preferred  an  English- 
man to  me;  I  love  her  daughter,  and  she  will  prefer  an 
Englishman  to  me:  it  is  as  Fate  wills,  and  nothing  can  alter 
it.  It  is  useless  to  fight  against  Fate.  I  submit." 

"  My  plans  are  all  made,"  said  Fabia  in  her  sweet  voice : 
"  I  had  to  make  them  by  myself  because  you  were  away,  and 
Mrs.  Seaton  wanted  an  answer  by  the  next  mail." 

"  I  wait  to  hear  them."  If  the  man  who  had  been  a  father 
to  Fabia  ever  since  her  own  father's  death  was  wounded 
by  her  cool  independence  of  him,  he  made  no  sign  that  he 

[22] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

was:  he  simply  listened  with  an  imperturbable  face  out  of 
which  he  had  smoothed  every  trace  of  his  recent  emotion. 

"  I  am  going  to  stay  for  a  few  months  with  Mrs.  Paul 
Seaton,  who  lived  here  for  four  years  with  her  uncle,  Sir 
Benjamin  Farley.  You  remember  him?" 

"  Well :  and  his  wife  also :  a  soulless  woman  with  a  culti- 
vated mind — cultivated,  that  is  to  say,  for  an  English- 
woman. They  are  generally  such  crude,  such  untrained 
creatures." 

"Then  do  you  not  remember  their  niece,  Miss  Carnaby? 
She  became  Mrs.  Paul  Seaton  some  years  ago.  She  must 
be  quite  old  by  this  time — well  over  thirty:  and  I  shall  do 
whatever  I  like  with  her.  It  isn't  likely  that  a  woman  of 
that  age  will  still  have  many  plans  and  interests  of  her  own." 
Fabia  little  recked  that  Isabel  had  made  the  same  remark 
almost  word  for  word  about  her,  merely  substituting 
'  young '  for  *  old.'  Age  is  after  all  very  much  a  question 
of  perspective. 

"I  remember  her  perfectly:  a  noisy,  shallow,  sparkling 
brook  of  a  woman — the  sort  that  the  Englishmen  want  to 
marry,  and  consider  themselves  very  fortunate  if  they  suc- 
ceed." And  Ram  Chandar  shuddered  slightly. 

"  Papa  did." 

"  Ah !  "  A  look  of  ineffable  disgust  suffused  the  dark 
face.  "  He  wanted  that  woman — that  empty  babbling  brook 
— to  fill  your  mother's  place?  How  English!  " 

"  Poor  Papa!     He  was  often  very  foolish." 

"  And  you  hated  her — hated  the  chattering  fool  that  was 
asked  to  step  into  your  mother's  shoes?  " 

Fabia  smiled  languidly.  "  No,  my  dear  Ram  Chandar, 
I  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  To  tell  the  truth  I  rather  liked 
her,  although  I  despised  her:  she  was  kind-hearted,  though 


THE   SUBJECTION 

too  effusive  for  my  taste ;  and  not  nearly  as  offensively  clever 
as  she  supposed  herself." 

"  A  fool,  doubtless,  like  most  of  her  country-women !  " 

"  By  no  means  a  fool :  a  clever  woman  in  a  superficial 
way.  Clever  enough  to  know  there  were  abme  things  be- 
yond her  comprehension;  but  not  clever  enough  to  try  to 
comprehend  them." 

"  And  you  can  forgive  that  woman  for  being  asked  to 
fill  your  mother's  place?  You  are  indeed  your  father's 
daughter!  " 

"  I  can  forgive  any  woman  for  being  asked  in  marriage 
by  any  man:  it  is  her  one  possible  diploma  of  merit.  The 
only  woman  I  cannot  forgive  is  the  woman  whom  no  man 
has  asked  in  marriage:  she  is  a  blot  upon  my  sex." 

"  You  are  cold,  Fabia — cold  as  ice:  and  you  are  also  cruel: 
yet  I  love  you." 

The  girl  mocked  him.  "  And  I  am  also  beautiful,  and 
yet  you  love  me.  And  I  am  also  clever,  and  yet  you  love 
me.  And  I  am  also  wealthy,  and  yet  you  love  me.  Truly, 
the  love  of  man  is  a  wonderful  and  a  selfless  thing!  " 

Again  the  handsome  face  put  on  its  mask  of  immobility. 
"  And  whom  did  she  finally  marry — this  twenty-first  love 
of  your  father  ?  " 

"  A  Member  of  Parliament — what  they  call  a  Radical— 
by  name  Paul  Seaton.  He  is  Under-Secretary  for  the  War 
Office,  whatever  that  may  mean.  He  was  poor,  too,  and 
she  married  for  what  she  called  love :  by  which  probably  she 
meant  a  due  sense  of  the  unfitness  of  things." 

"  And  you  can  make  yourself  happy  among  such  people  ?  " 

"  For  a  time,  yes.  I  am  bored  to  death  here :  I  am  tired 
of  you  all,  and  have  seen  all  that  there  is  to  see,  and  have 
learnt  by  heart  all  there  is  to  learn:  and  I  want  a  change." 

[24] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  And  it  never  occurs  to  you  to  wonder  what  /  want  ?  " 

"  Never."  Wherein  Fabia  spoke  the  simplest  truth.  It 
never  did  occur  to  her  to  consider  what  anybody  except  her- 
self thought  or  felt  about  anything :  at  present  she  was  com- 
pletely and  absolutely  selfish.  She  had  schooled  herself  not 
to  mind  the  social  slights  which,  in  Anglo-Indian  society, 
the  fact  that  she  was  a  half-caste  entailed  upon  her;  and  she 
had  succeeded  in  meeting  them  with  the  utmost  indifference, 
not  to  say  contempt :  but  they  had  had  their  effect  upon  her 
character  all  the  same. 

There  are  few  baneful  influences  more  difficult  to  with- 
stand than  that  of  continual  social  slights.  The  iron  of 
them  is  prone  to  enter  into  the  strongest  and  purest  souls: 
id  the  iron  does  not  invariably  act  as  a  tonic.  From  sor- 
row and  misfortune  men  and  women  often  rise  ennobled  and 
purified:  but  it  is  doubtful  if  a  continuance  of  petty  slights 
ever  has  a  beneficial  effect  upon  any  human  being ;  it  almost 
invariably  hardens  and  embitters,  and  changes  the  fairest 
Elims  into  Marahs  indeed.  Perhaps  the  cruellest  part  of 
losing  a  fortune  is  not  its  immediate  effect  upon  ourselves, 
but  its  effect  upon  our  neighbours  and  their  consequent 
treatment  of  us.  Surely,  the  King  of  Israel  was  wise  in  his 
generation  when  he  elected  to  fall  into  the  Hand  of  the 
Lord  rather  than  into  the  hands  of  men ! 

And  what  right  have  we,  forsooth,  in  our  mean  and  petty 
arrogance,  to  distort  and  stultify  the  immortal  souls  of  those 
men  and  women  who  happen  to  be  less  wealthy  or  well- 
born than  ourselves  ?  What  right  have  we,  in  our  smug  self- 
complacency,  to  deface  the  Divine  Image  and  Superscription 
on  the  current  coin  of  our  Father's  realm?  Our  only  ex- 
cuse is  that  we  are  ignorant  of  the  harm  we  are  doing,  the 
effect  of  a  social  snub  being  as  a  rule  out  of  all  proportion  to 

[25] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

the  cause.  Therefore,  the  next  time  we  feel  constrained,  in 
our  fancied  superiority,  to  teach  (as  we  phrase  it)  some  less 
fortunate  fellow-man  his  place,  let  us  take  care  that  our 
innate  snobbishness  and  our  cultivated  insolence  are  not  en- 
dangering the  soul  of  a  weaker  brother. 

Thus  it  was  not  altogether  poor  Fabia's  fault  that  she 
was  cold  and  selfish  and  hard:  it  was  rather  the  fault  of 
those  fashionable  friends  of  her  father's  who  felt  it  incum- 
bent upon  them  to  indicate  their  own  social  superiority  by 
displaying  a  studied  exclusiveness  towards  all  those  not  of 
their  own  race  or  order.  But,  though  the  fault  might  be 
theirs,  the  onus  of  the  result  rested  with  her:  and  she,  like 
the  rest  of  us,  had  to  take  the  consequences  of  her  own 
failings — to  suffer  the  defects  of  her  own  qualities. 

She  had  loved  her  mother  more  than  she  had  ever  loved 
her  father:  but  her  admiration  and  respect  were  always  put 
down  to  the  latter 's  score.  The  fact  that  he  belonged  to 
the  dominant  race  had  influenced  her  every  thought  of  him: 
and  her  very  bitterness  against  the  attitude  of  his  people 
towards  her,  was  a  proof  that  she  invariably  recognised  their 
superiority. 

Her  mother  died  when  she  was  still  a  child:  and  her 
father  when  she  was  just  developing  into  womanhood.  Since 
his  death  her  mother's  kinsman,  Ram  Chandar  Mukharji, 
had  taken  charge  of  herself  and  her  property,  providing  her 
with  a  duenna  in  the  shape  of  a  cast-off,  though  eminently 
worthy  governess  whom  the  family  of  an  English  Resident 
had  outgrown. 

Underneath  the  almost  Oriental  langour  of  Fabia's  man- 
ner, her  mind  was  feverishly  active.  She  was  never  really 
at  rest — never  content.  Consequently  she  was  soon  wearied 
of  poor  Miss  Jones's  conscientious  supervision,  and  plumed 

[26] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

her  radiant  wings  for  wider  flight.  It  was  then  that  Isabel 
heard  of  her  and  her  desire  to  come  to  England,  through 
one  of  Lady  Farley's  Anglo-Indian  friends ;  and  Mrs.  Seaton 
sent  out  her  invitation  just  in  the  nick  of  time  when  Fabia 
felt  that  she  could  endure  India  and  Miss  Jones  no  longer. 
The  girl  had  inherited  a  handsome  fortune  and  large  estates 
from  her  mother:  and  she  had  the  independence  and  the  in- 
tolerance of  restraint,  which  are  the  invariable  attributes 
of  moneyed  immaturity. 

Thus  she  was  as  pleased  at  the  idea  of  coming  to  the 
Seatons  as  Mrs.  Seaton  was  at  the  idea  of  receiving  her: 
and  she  was  just  as  set  upon  managing  Isabel  as  Isabel  was 
set  upon  managing  her.  And  the  result  of  the  contest  be- 
tween these  two  strong  and  self-willed  women  still  lay  in 
the  lap  of  the  gods. 


CHAPTER  III 


FABIA  came  to  England  as  had  been  arranged,  and  was 
received  by  Mrs.  Paul  Seaton  with  open  arms:  but  Miss 
Vipart  had  not  been  long  at  Prince's  Gardens  before  Isabel 
realised  that  she  had  opened  her  arms  a  little  too  wide  before 
understanding  all  the  bearings  of  the  case.  She  at  once  con- 
fided the  discovery  of  this  error,  and  her  repentance  of  the 
same,  to  Paul,  who,  like  a  good  husband  (and  unlike  a  good 
wife),  carefully  refrained  from  saying  anything  which,  even 
by  the  freest  translation,  could  be  construed  into  "  I  told 
you  so."  He  was  for  sending  Fabia  back  to  India  by  return 
of  post,  so  to  speak,  having  (again  like  a  good  husband)  no 
sense  of  proportion  where  his  wife  and  his  wife's  interests 
were  concerned.  The  man  who  is  alive  to  the  laws  of 
perspective  with  regard  to  the  woman  that  he  loves,  had 
better  take  at  once  a  self-imposed  vow  of  celibacy :  for  while 
the  world  stands  he  will  never  make  a  passable  husband. 
But  Isabel — with  that  innate  sense  of  justice  in  which  it 
pleases  men  to  imagine  that  all  women  are  fundamentally 
lacking — felt  that  such  a  course  of  conduct  would  be  most 
unfair  to  her  guest:  and  put  the  temptation  away  from  her 
accordingly. 

It  was  not  really  the  fault  of  either  woman  that  the  two 
did  not,  as  the  phrase  runs,  get  on  well  together:  they  met 
with  the  full  intention  of  liking  each  other  extremely,  and 
of  being  great  friends  as  the  fashionable  world  counts  friend- 

[28] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

ship:  but  the  fact  was  that  they  were  absolutely  incapable 
of  understanding  one  another:  and  true  friendship  without 
mutual  comprehension  is  a  contradiction  in  terms. 

It  was  no  fault  of  Isabel's  that  in  spite  of  all  the  efforts 
to  understand  Fabia's  character,  she  signally  failed;  on  the 
contrary,  this  failure  was  rather  to  her  credit  than  other- 
wise. With  all  her  faults — of  which  she  had  her  proper  and 
normal  share — there  was  not  one  grain  of  bitterness  or  acid- 
ity in  Isabel's  character:  she  was  constitutionally  incapable 
of  feeling  either  the  one  or  the  other.  True,  in  the  old, 
half-forgotten  days,  she  had  written  a  book  which  was  noted 
for  its  bitter  cynicism:  but  that  was  but  the  expression  of  a 
temporary  phase  which  was  altogether  foreign  to  her  natural 
bent  of  mind.  She  had  dipped  her  pen  in  gall  as  she  wrote; 
but  the  penwiper  was  ever  at  hand  to  remove  the  foreign 
substance  as  soon  as  she  had  done  with  it:  and  it  had  never 
even  temporarily  stained  her  white  fingers.  Of  acidity  she 
was  incapable  even  momentarily :  that  could  never  tinge  even 
a  passing  thought  in  her  mind.  She  might  have  been  some- 
what hard  and  thoughtless  and  capricious  in  her  young  days: 
her  detractors  said  that  she  was:  but  none  of  them  could 
ever  accuse  her  of  being  soured  by  the  experience  of  life. 
Perhaps  there  was  more  invigorating  saltness  than  cloying 
sweetness  in  her  nature:  but  be  it  remembered,  salt  is  further 
removed  from  acidity  than  is  even  sugar.  And,  after  all, 
hardness  and  thoughtlessness  are  faults  of  youth,  which  de- 
crease with  advancing  years:  while  bitterness  and  acidity 
only  eat  deeper  and  deeper  as  time  rolls  on  into  the  lives  of 
those  who  harbour  them. 

But  because  of  this  very  saneness  of  character,  which 
might  make  her  outwardly  hard  but  never  inwardly  bitter, 
Isabel  found  it  impossible  to  enter  into  Fabia's  feelings; 

[  29  ] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

and  was  consequently  perhaps  a  little  severe  and  unsympa^ 
thetic  with  the  girl.  She  had  never  experienced  that  social 
ostracism  which  had  entered  as  iron  into  Fabia's  soul :  there- 
fore she  was  incapable  of  appreciating  its  effect  upon  the 
girl's  character.  She  pitied  her  for  it,  it  is  true:  but  pity 
is  often  not  akin  to  sympathy,  whatever  it  may  be  to  love. 
We  must  all  have  the  defects  of  our  qualities:  and  Isabel 
therefore  could  not  escape  the  inherent  limitations  of  the 
healthy-minded,  unaffected,  humorous,  successful  woman. 

Fabia,  on  the  other  hand,  could  not  escape  the  defects  of 
the  passionate,  highly  strung,  reserved,  thoughtful,  intro- 
spective girl.  To  her  superfine  sensibilities,  Isabel  appeared 
a  little  harsh  and  rough:  while  to  Isabel's  common-sense  and 
unfailing  humour,  Fabia's  supersensitiveness  of  mind  and 
body  seemed  decidedly  unhealthy  and  morbid. 

Although  she  never  mentioned  it  to  anybody,  Fabia's 
visit  to  England  was  a  far  greater  disappointment  to  herself 
than  it  was  to  her  hostess.  She  had  had  an  idea  that  when 
once  she  was  in  England  among  her  father's  people,  the 
feeling  of  loneliness  which  had  oppressed  her  all  her  life 
would  vanish:  instead  of  which  she  felt  more  isolated  here 
than  she  had  ever  done  at  home.  It  is  strange,  that  sense 
of  loneliness  and  isolation  which  appears  to  be  the  unalter- 
able lot  of  certain  souls!  They  are  set  apart  from  their 
fellows,  why  they  know  not:  and  nothing  that  they  say  or 
do  can  break  down  the  wall  of  partition  that  stands  between 
themselves  and  other  men.  From  her  earliest  infancy  Fabia 
had  been  a  prey  to  this  terrible  feeling  of  solitariness.  As  a 
child,  if  other  children  came  to  play  with  her  at  her  own 
house,  they  always  played  with  each  other  and  left  her  out 
in  the  cold :  and  as  a  girl  the  same  thing  happened  with 
regard  to  other  girls.  Even  her  great  beauty  and  undeniable 

[30] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

intellectual  powers  did  not  help  her:  in  fact,  they  seemed  to 
place  her  still  further  apart  from  other  people.  No  one 
but  herself  knew  how  fiercely  she  envied  those  commonplace 
girls  who  had  their  full  share  of  brothers  and  sisters,  and 
more  than  their  full  share  of  bosom  friends:  nor  how  pas- 
sionately she  resented  those  qualities  in  herself  which  pre- 
vented her  companions  from  being  comfortably  intimate 
with  her.  And  now  that  she  had  at  last  attained  her  heart's 
desire  and  come  to  England,  it  was  just  the  same.  People 
admired  and  feted  her  because  of  her  beauty  and  accomplish- 
ments, but  they  never  treated  her  as  one  of  themselves,  as 
they  treated  Isabel:  and  Fabia  was  too  quick  not  to  see 
this.  They  were  never  rude  to  her,  as  they  had  been  in 
India — never  even  impolite:  but  there  was  a  subtle  sug- 
gestion in  the  atmosphere  that  she  was  a  visitor  rather  than 
a  relation — a  stranger  to  be  entertained  rather  than  a  friend 
to  be  welcomed.  Many  women  would  not  have  been  con- 
scious of  this:  but  Fabia's  perceptions  were  abnormally 
acute:  and  however  much  people  might  flatter  her,  she 
knew  in  a  moment  when  they  did  not  like  her :  and  agonised 
accordingly.  Isabel,  on  the  other  hand,  possessed  in  a  marked 
degree  the  gift  of  friendliness  and  camaraderie:  every  one 
who  knew  her  felt  that  they  had  known  her  all  her  life, 
she  had  such  a  wonderful  knack  of  finding  some  common 
ground  whereon  herself  and  the  most  unlikely  person  could 
meet  and  fraternise.  And  this  quality  in  her  hostess  made 
poor  Fabia  realise  the  more  poignantly  her  own  loneliness 
and  desolation. 

Humanity  is  divided  into  two  sets  of  people:  the  people 
who  are  inside  the  red  cord  and  the  people  who  are  outside: 
there  is  no  other  division  that  really  matters.  Those  who 
are  inside  are  cheerful  and  comfortable  and  well-liking,  at 

[31] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

peace  with  gods  and  men  and  with  everybody  except  out- 
siders: while  those  outside  are  unhappy  and  desolate  and  op- 
pressed, at  war  with  themselves  and  each  other  and  bitterly 
vindictive  against  those  happier  beings  within  the  sacred 
inclosure :  and  it  is  all  the  fault  of  the  red  cord. 

There  are  red  cords  in  all  worlds  and  in  all  phases  of 
life — social,  personal,  religious:  and  one's  happiness  mainly 
depends  upon  one's  relative  position  towards  these  said  red 
cords. 

It  is  a  cruel  thing,  this  red  cord — cruel  fundamentally  to 
those  on  both  sides  of  it.  It  fills  those  within  with  hardness 
of  heart,  pride,  vainglory  and  hypocrisy:  and  those  without 
with  envy,  hatred  and  malice  and  all  uncharitableness.  It 
is  old  too,  this  red  cord — old  as  human  nature.  Ishmael 
had  felt  the  scourge  of  it  when  his  hand  was  against  every 
man  and  every  man's  hand  against  his:  and  those  daughters 
of  Heth,  from  whom  Esau  chose  his  wife,  had  learnt  how 
pitiless  it  could  be.  Although  inimical  to  the  true  spirit 
of  Christianity,  it  nevertheless  continued  to  exist  after  the 
dawning  of  the  dayspring  from  on  high:  even  the  great 
Apostle,  upon  whom  the  Church  was  built,  knew  how  to 
wield  it  to  the  confounding  of  the  Gentiles :  and  it  was  not 
until  the  vision  of  the  great  vessel  had  been  vouchsafed  to 
him  three  times,  that  he  was  content  to  lay  it  down.  It  was 
responsible  for  the  tortures  of  the  Spanish  Inquisition,  for 
the  horrors  of  the  French  Revolution:  it  is  still  responsible 
for  most  of  the  evils  of  social  and  political  and  religious 
life. 

Ever  since  she  could  remember,  Fabia  Vipart  had  writhed 
under  the  scourge  of  the  red  cord:  it  had  lashed  her  natu- 
rally tender  spirit  into  revolt  and  rebellion  by  its  merciless 
system  of  excjusiveness :  and  Isabel  Seaton,  who  had  been 

[3*] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

born  and  bred  within  the  select  circle,  and  who  had  never 
known  the  misery  of  those  whom  society  chooses  to  consign 
to  outer  darkness,  was  as  ignorant  as  a  babe  of  all  that  Fabia 
suffered,  and  as  intolerant  as  a  child  of  the  outward  signs 
of  that  suffering. 

Moreover,  the  two  women  were  somewhat  far  apart  in 
years,  and  so  lacked  the  freemasonry  of  contemporaries.  If 
we  are  considerably  older  than  anybody  else,  it  does  not 
invariably  follow  that  we  are  wiser:  but  it  invariably  fol- 
lows that  we  think  we  are,  and  nothing  will  convince  us 
to  the  contrary.  Therefore,  Isabel  was  fully  prepared  to 
advise  and  instruct  her  junior:  and  her  junior  obstinately 
refused  to  be  advised  or  instructed :  wherein  lay  the  raw 
material  for  the  manufacture  of  open  warfare. 

One  afternoon,  about  a  month  after  Fabia's  arrival  in 
England,  she  and  her  hostess  were  sitting  chatting  in  the 
drawing-room  in  Prince's  Gardens;  and  the  conversation 
turned  upon  Miss  Vipart's  general  discontent  with  life. 

"You  should  marry,"  remarked  Isabel:  "you  find  it  the 
most  diverting  arrangement.  And  you  can't  think  how 
much  more  cosey  and  cheerful  it  makes  everything." 

Fabia  looked  lazily  at  her  hostess  through  half-closed 
eyelids.  "  You  didn't  always  think  so,  for  you  were  in  no 
special  hurry  to  get  married  yourself:  you  must  have  been 
nearly  thirty." 

"  Horrid  little  thing!  "  exclaimed  Isabel  to  herself:  "  I'll 
tell  Paul  that  the  very  minute  he  comes  home."  The  recital 
to  Paul  of  Fabia's  daily  iniquities  was  one  of  the  chief 
delights  of  Isabel's  life  just  now,  and  a  wonderful  support 
to  her  in  her  endurance  of  such  an  incubus.  But  all  that 
she  said  aloud  was:  "  Twenty-nine."  And  she  said  it  quite 
good-humouredly. 

[33] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

Fabia  smiled.     "  You  have  an  admirable  temper,  Isabel." 

Isabel  had  insisted  upon  Fabia's  calling  her  by  her  Chris- 
tian name  the  moment  she  arrived.  Paul  had  said  privately 
to  his  wife  that  he  considered  this  a  mistake,  but  had  been 
overruled.  Now  Isabel  was  never  tired  of  telling  Paul 
how  much  she  wished  Fabia  would  call  her  Mrs.  Seaton, 
as  she  couldn't  bear  people  who  didn't  like  her  to  call  her 
Isabel. 

"I  know:  it's  a  regular  beauty,"  she  replied:  "I'm  not 
sure  that  I  ever  met  anybody  with  a  better,  taking  it  all 
round.  That  is  to  say,  except  where  Paul  is  concerned:  I 
used  to  be  perfectly  vile  to  him  when  we  were  engaged: 
a  regular  little  devil !  " 

"But  why?" 

"  I  haven't  a  notion." 

"  You  were  in  love  with  him,  weren't  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course.    That  was  the  reason." 

"  That  is  absurd — simply  absurd !  If  ever  I  were  so 
foolish  as  to  be  in  love  with  a  man — or  so  wise — I  should 
be  an  angel  to  him  all  the  time." 

"  Naturally :  because  you  aren't  an  angel  to  anybody 
else.  I  was." 

An  expression  of  languid  amusement  spread  itself  over 
Fabia's  face.  Although  she  was  at  war  with  Isabel  in  her 
heart,  she  was  usually  entertained  by  the  conversation  of 
the  latter.  The  difference  between  the  two  women  was  this : 
Fabia  sometimes  was  conscious  of  Isabel's  charm:  Isabel 
never  was  conscious  of  Fabia's.  Fabia  could  have  loved 
Isabel  had  she  allowed  herself  to  do  so:  Isabel  tried  to  love 
Fabia  and  had  failed.  Yet  Isabel  was  invariably  kind  to 
Fabia,  and  Fabia  was  often  very  unkind  to  Isabel.  Such 
are  the  ironies  of  feminine  friendship. 

[34] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  I  fail  to  see  the  sequence  of  thought,"  she  said :  "  please 
explain." 

"  Haven't  you  noticed  that  amiable  women  are  generally 
cross  with  the  men  they  love,  and  cross  women  are  generally 
amiable  with  the  men  they  love?  I  once  asked  a  tremen- 
dously wise  and  clever  man  the  reason  of  this." 

"  And  what  did  he  say?  " 

"  I  forget  what  he  said,  but  I  remember  what  I  said :  and 
that  was  that  we  offer  the  greatest  rareties  as  the  greatest 
luxuries  to  our  guests,  on  the  same  principle  as  we  give 
them  strawberries  in  December  and  ice  in  June.  So  that 
the  good-tempered  woman's  bad  temper  and  the  bad-tempered 
woman's  good  temper  are  special  delicacies." 

"  All  the  same,  I  cannot  imagine  your  being  bad-tempered 
and  disagreeable.  It  would  be  altogether  out  of  drawing." 
Isabel's  easy  good-humour  was  a  constant  source  of  wonder 
to  Fabia:  being  made  herself  on  such  different  lines,  she 
had  no  idea  how  easy  it  was. 

Mrs.  Seaton  nodded  sagely.  "Can't  you?  You  just  ask 
Paul." 

"  He  wouldn't  tell  me,  if  I  did.  Don't  you  know  him 
better  than  that  ?  " 

"  Of  course  he  wouldn't.  That's  where  husbands  are  so 
splendid.  They  always  stick  up  for  you,  whether  you're 
right  or  whether  you're  wrong — in  fact,  rather  more  when 
you're  wrong  than  when  you're  right.  They  consider  that 
is  playing  the  game." 

"  So  it  is." 

"  I  often  wonder,"  continued  Isabel  in  a  meditative  man- 
ner, "  what  Paul  really  thinks  of  me.  He  can't  possibly 
think  as  highly  of  me  as  he  seems  to  do,  because  nobody 
could:  in  fact  nobody  else  pretends  to.  And  yet  he  knows 

[35] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

me  better  than  anybody  else  does.  It's  queer!  You  can't 
help  admitting  that  it's  queer!  " 

Fabia  laughed  softly.     "  Very  queer  indeed !  " 

"  And  there's  lots  of  other  queer  things  besides,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Seaton,  waxing  more  communicative:  "  I  used 
to  think,  before  I  was  married,  that  when  husbands  and 
wives  pretended  they  didn't  see  each  other's  faults  it  was  all 
humbug.  But  now  I  find  that  it  wasn't.  Of  course  it  is 
utterly  absurd,  I  know:  but  all  the  same  it's  true." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it.  If  I  had  a  husband  I  should  see  his 
faults  fast  enough:  I  couldn't  help  it  even  if  I  tried." 

"  Yes,  you  could.    You  couldn't  help  not  helping  it." 

"  But  I  should  feel  such  a  fool." 

"  And  you  would  be:  that's  the  beauty  of  it."  And  Isabel 
laughed  a  rippling  little  laugh  of  pure  happiness.  "  That's 
why  married  life  is  so  good  for  one,"  she  continued:  "you 
find  yourself  doing  the  very  things  that  you've  screamed  with 
laughter  at  other  women  for  doing:  and  this  teaches  you, 
better  than  a  whole  library  of  books  or  a  complete  course  of 
Oxford  Extension  lectures,  that  you  are  not  one  whit  better 
or  wiser  than  everybody  else." 

"  But  that  is  a  lesson  that  I  should  hate  to  learn,"  objected 
Fabia,  who  was  one  of  the  women  who  derive  a  painful 
pleasure  from  the  notion  that  no  one  ever  felt  as  they  feel, 
or  suffered  as  they  suffer.  Although  she  hated  her  solitari- 
ness, she  was  in  a  sense  proud  of  it,  human  nature  having 
a  strange  knack  of  feeling  pride  in  its  own  deficiencies  as  well 
as  in  its  own  excellencies.  Delicate  people  are  as  proud  of 
their  delicacy  as  strong  ones  are  of  their  strength :  and  small 
men  are  as  proud  of  their  light  weight  as  big  ones  are  of  their 
bulk.  Life  is  full  of  compensations :  and  our  own  good  con- 
ceit of  ourselves  is  by  no  means  the  least  of  them. 

[36] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  It  is  no  use  hating  things  if  you've  got  to  learn  them," 
replied  Isabel  with  her  usual  sound  sense:  "  it  only  makes 
life  more  unpleasant  than  it  need  be,  and  does  nobody  any 
good." 

"  But  don't  you  hate  to  find  that  you  are  the  same  as 
other  people?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it:  I  enjoy  the  joke:  and  the  fact  that  it  is 
at  my  own  expense  makes  me  enjoy  it  all  the  more,  as  I 
can  understand  better  than  anybody  else  can  how  excessively 
funny  it  is."  Wherein  Mrs.  Sea  ton  spoke  no  less  than  the 
truth :  for  she  was  one  of  the  happy  beings — and  their  name 
Is  by  no  means  Legion — who  derive  unfeigned  and  solid 
pleasure  from  a  joke  at  their  own  expense.  Such  persons 
are  rare ;  and  they  are  almost  always  feminine.  A  man  who 
laughs  heartily  and  naturally  at  his  own  absurdity,  is  a  very 
black  swan  indeed.  Men  smile,  it  is  true,  at  these  ill-timed 
and  inappropriate  jests:  but  the  smiles  are  generally  of  that 
sickly  and  watery  character  which  reminds  one  of  a  sunset 
on  a  rainy  day.  Nine  women  out  of  ten  do  not  even  smile 
at  humour  whereof  they  themselves  are  the  unwilling  butts: 
they  frown  and  glower  and  sulk:  but  the  tenth  woman  not 
only  smiles  but  laughs  with  all  her  heart,  holding  her  sides 
in  the  exuberance  of  her  mirth,  as  no  man  has  ever  held 
his  at  fun  poked  at  himself.  And  Isabel  Seaton  happened 
to  be  the  tenth. 

"  You  didn't  really  know  me  before  I  was  married,"  she 
continued,  with  that  irresistible  candour  which  had  ever  been 
one  of  her  greatest  charms :  "  so  you've  no  idea  how  egre- 
giously  conceited  I  was,  and  how  much  cleverer  I  thought 
myself  than  anybody  else — or  in  fact  than  anybody  else 
though  me  either:  and  therefore  you  can't  understand  what 
a  killing  joke  it  is  to  me  to  see  myself  developing  into  the 

[37] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

ordinary  commonplace,  domestic  and  devoted  wife.  It  makes 
me  laugh  every  time  I  think  of  it.  Doubtless  it  is  very 
romantic  when  the  ugly  duckling  turns  into  the  snow-white 
swan :  but  the  real  joke  comes  in  when  the  promising  cygnet 
developes  into  the  humdrum  barn-door  fowl.  And  that  is 
my  case  to  a  T.  I'm  very  humdrum  and  excessively  barn- 
door: but  I've  got  the  saving  grace  left  to  see  that  it's  funny." 
And  Isabel  laughed  softly  to  herself.  "  As  long  as  you're 
funny  and  know  that  you  are  funny,  you  aren't — well,  you 
are  not  quite  so  funny  as  you  would  otherwise  have  been." 

"  I  do  not  understand" you  at  all.  I  couldn't  go  on  doing 
a  thing  that  I  knew  was  ridiculous.  I  might  be  ridiculous 
without  knowing  it:  I  suppose  everybody  is  sometimes:  but 
I  would  rather  die  than  be  ridiculous  consciously.  I  hate 
to  be  laughed  at :  it  is  absolute  torture  to  me." 

Isabel  nestled  into  her  easy  chair  with  that  snug  cosiness 
of  hers  which  formed  such  a  marked  contrast  to  Fabia's  lithe 
grace.  "  Then  you  make  a  great  mistake.  Half  the  fun  of 
life  consists  in  seeing  how  funny  you  are  yourself,  and  in 
watching  other  people  find  it  out." 

But  Fabia  still  looked  puzzled.  As  she  said,  it  was  torture 
to  her  to  be  laughed  at,  for  she  was  one  of  those  super- 
sensitive  souls  who  are  not  shielded  by  a  saving  sense  of 
humour;  therefore  Isabel's  attitude  of  mind  was  incompre- 
hensible to  her.  Perhaps  the  fact  that  one  woman  had  been 
born  inside  the  red  cord  and  the  other  outside,  accounted 
for  the  phenomenon  in  both  cases. 

"  I  used  to  roar  with  laughter,"  continued  Isabel,  "  at 
women  who  couldn't  see  their  husband's  faults:  it  used  to 
seem  too  utterly  idiotic  for  anything.  And  yet  now  for  the 
life  of  me  though  I  see  Paul's  mistakes,  I  cannot  discover 
his  faults!  I  know  they  must  be  there,  like  Mrs.  Wilfer's 

[38] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

petticoat,  because  everybody  has  them  and  nobody  is  an  ex- 
ception: but  try  as  I  will  I  can't  find  them  out!  " 

"  You  are  candid  at  all  events,"  remarked  Fabia,  who  was 
as  yet  too  young  to  decide  whether  to  despise  her  friend  for 
being  a  fool,  or  to  admire  her  for  confessing  it.  According 
to  the  poet  Gray,  the  boys  at  Eton  had  learned  the  truth 
that  sometimes  '  'tis  folly  to  be  wise ' :  but  the  soundness  of 
the  inverse  platitude  that  sometimes  'tis  wisdom  to  be  foolish, 
is  never  grasped  by  those  on  the  so-called  sunny  side 
of  thirty. 

"  I  always  try  to  be,  for  there's  nothing  I  hate  so  much 
as  humbug  and  affectation.  There's  a  lot  of  that  going  about 
nowadays,  my  dear  Fabia,  especially  on  the  subject  of  mar- 
riage :  and  I  want  you  to  be  on  your  guard  against  it,  and  not 
to  be  choked  off  any  really  nice  match  just  because  of  the 
nonsense  preached  by  silly  women  and  modern  novels :  which 
brings  me  to  the  point  of  the  conversation  from  which  I 
started.  I  generally  get  round  to  my  starting  point,  if  you 
only  give  me  time." 

"  Like  the  oft-quoted  boomerang,"  suggested  Fabia,  thus 
setting  her  loquacious  hostess  upon  a  fresh  track. 

"  Oh !  my  dear,  there's  no  greater  delusion  than  the  idea 
that  boomerangs  invariably  travel  with  a  return-ticket. 
We've  got  one  in  the  corner  of  this  very  drawing-room, 
which  was  once  given  me  by  someone  who  had  been  to 
Australia  (if  that  is  where  boomerangs  grow) :  I  forget  who 
it  was.  I  remember  it  was  someone  who  was  in  love  with 
me  at  the  time,  but  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  recall  his  name. 
Anyway  I  thought  it  rather  an  interesting  object  to  have 
about — the  sort  of  thing  that  promotes  conversation,  don't 
you  know? — so  when  we  came  to  live  here  I  stuck  it  up  at 
the  back  of  the  cosey-corner,  supported  by  two  Venetian 

[39] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

glass  vases  that  somebody  else  gave  us  for  a  wedding- 
present." 

"  I  have  seen  it.  Happily  Captain  Gaythorne  caught 
sight  of  it  one  day  when  he  was  being  even  duller  than 
usual,  and  it  started  him  on  quite  an  intelligent  description 
of  his  travels  in  India — that  being  the  nearest  to  Australia 
that  he  could  manage." 

"  That  is  just  what  it  was  put  there  for!  Every  drawing- 
room  ornament  should  have  in  it  the  germ  of  a  conversation : 
it  is  its  raison  d'etre.  I  suppose  that  is  why  country-people 
have  upon  their  chimney-pieces  bunches  of  the  plant  called 
honesty.  It  gives  them  an  opportunity  of  expatiating  upon 
that  over-rated  virtue,  and  of  so  drifting  into  the  universal 
pleasure  of  telling  unpleasant  truths  to  one's  friends  and 
neighbours." 

"  I  remember  he  discoursed  exhaustively  upon  the  time- 
honoured  subject  of  boomerangs,  and  told  long  tales  of  how 
they  invariably  came  back,  like  curses,  to  roost." 

"Do  they?  That's  all  he  knows!  If  you  so  much  as 
breathe  when  you  are  anywhere  near  to  ours,  it  at  once  tum- 
bles behind  the  cosey-corner,  breaking  any  wedding-presents 
that  it  comes  across  on  its  way.  And  then  does  it  come  back 
to  where  it  started  from?  Not  a  bit  of  it!  It  remains  in 
retreat,  like  a  devotee,  until  somebody  breaks  their  own  bones 
and  more  wedding-presents  by  creeping  under  the  seat  of  the 
cosey-corner  to  fetch  it  out.  I  know  its  little  ways."  And 
Mrs.  Seaton  shook  her  head  reflectively. 

"  If  you  have  many  friends  like  Captain  Gaythorne  I  do 
not  wonder  that  you  select  drawing-room  ornaments  that 
start  conversation,"  said  Fabia  with  that  touch  of  sarcasm 
which  generally  flavoured  her  remarks.  Yet  on  the  whole 
she  liked  Captain  Gaythorne — liked  him  better  than  anyone 

[40] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

she  had  as  yet  met  since  she  came  to  England.  She  was  by 
no  means  the  first  woman  who  has  abused  men  because  she 
liked  them,  and  gone  near  spoiling  her  own  life  and  theirs 
accordingly:  nor  will  she  be  the  last.  It  is  merely  a  symptom 
of  a  certain  sort  of  shyness:  and  not  the  worst  sort  of  shy- 
ness, either. 

But  Isabel  was  not  the  woman  to  appreciate  or  sympathise 
with  shyness  of  any  kind.  "  Now  I  won't  have  you  abusing 
Charlie  Gaythorne,"  she  cried :  "  I  won't  allow  it  in  my 
drawing-room  under  the  shadow  of  my  own  boomerang! 
Charlie  is  my  darling,  as  you  have  probably  heard  before,  or 
words  to  that  effect :  and  besides  he  is  one  of  the  men  I  want 
you  to  marry." 

The  girl  winced.  She  hated  Isabel's  easy,  half-insolent 
way  of  disposing  of  her  as  if  she  were  a  parcel  of  foreign 
imports :  and  yet  there  was  a  sort  of  attractiveness  about  the 
insolence  all  the  same,  it  was  so  good-humoured.  She  was 
beginning  to  understand  why  her  father  had  once  wanted 
to  marry  this  woman.  It  was  the  same  sort  of  reason  which, 
in  a  minor  degree,  had  made  him  enjoy  a  sharp  wind  and  a 
cold  bath:  a  reason  which  no  pure  Oriental  could  ever  have 
comprehended.  But  Fabia  was  no  pure  Oriental :  there  was 
a  strong  strain  of  Western  thought  and  feeling  in  her  compo- 
sition :  and  it  was  probably  her  Eastern  sense  of  reserve  and 
mystery  underlying  her  Western  inclination  towards  all  that 
was  essentially  British  and  modern,  that  endowed  the  girl 
with  so  strong  a  fascination:  the  fascination  of  incongruity 
made  congruous.  That  she  possessed  fascination  there  was 
no  doubt:  but  it  was  purely  a  personal  magnetism,  not  an 
intellectual  one.  Those  who  merely  read  her  history  will 
probably  find  her  without  charm :  but  those  who  met  her  face 
to  face  felt  it  in  the  very  marrow  of  their  bones. 

[41] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

"  You  are  always  wanting  people  to  get  married,"  she 
said:  "  it  seems  to  be  your  one  idea  of  entertainment." 

"  I  believe  it  is  the  only  thing  that  permanently  amuses 
anybody,"  admitted  Isabel. 

"  And  it  fails  to  do  even  that  with  some." 

"  Now,  Fabia,  as  I  said  before,  I  won't  allow  you  to  get 
absurd  modern  notions  about  matrimony.  It  is  the  fashion 
nowadays  to  pretend  that  most  marriages  are  unhappy:  but 
they're  not — not  a  bit  of  it." 

"  You  think  it  is  all  pure  affectation?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  all  pure  rot,"  replied  Mrs.  Seaton  with 
more  force  than  elegance.  "  We  are  told  all  sorts  of  non- 
sense about  marriages  being  increasingly  difficult  under  mod- 
ern conditions,  etc.,  etc.,  and  all  sorts  of  silly  ways  are 
suggested  of  untying  the  knot.  As  if  modern  conditions 
cancelled  Divine  laws!  Some  things  alter  as  times  change, 
and  some  things  don't:  and  Sacraments  and  Commandments 
are  among  the  things  that  don't.  We  may  need  a  new 
Bradshaw  every  month :  but  we  don't  need  a  new  Bible." 

"  Then  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  don't  believe  that  it 
is  far  more  difficult  for  us  to  find  happiness  in  marriage 
than  it  was  for  your  grandmothers  ?  "  persisted  Fabia,  who 
had  sufficiently  saturated  her  mind  with  current  literature 
to  have  caught  the  taint  of  certain  phases  of  modern  thought. 

"  Not  an  atom !  "  replied  Isabel  with  fine  scorn.  "  It  is 
merely  the  fashion  nowadays  for  women  to  pretend  that 
they  don't  fear  God  or  love  their  husbands:  while,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  ninety-nine  women  out  of  every  hundred  do 
both.  They  can't  help  doing  it:  it's  what  they  were  made 
for.  A  woman  who  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart  doesn't  fear 
God  and  love  her  husband,  is  a  freak;  and  the  proper  place 
for  freaks  is  Barnum's." 

[42] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  Then  do  you  fear  God  and  love  your  husband  ?  "  asked 
Fabia. 

"Yes:  with  all  my  heart.  And,  what  is  more,  I'm  not 
ashamed  of  it,  as  so  many  women  are.  Ashamed  of  it,  in- 
deed !  Why,  the  sun  might  just  as  well  be  ashamed  of  shin- 
ing or  the  moon  of  giving  light,  as  a  woman  of  doing  the 
two  things  for  which  she  was  created." 

"  If  I  had  a  husband,"  Fabia  remarked,  "  I  should  never 
let  him  know  how  much  I  loved  him." 

"Shouldn't  you?  I  know  better."  And  Isabel  whistled 
softly  to  herself,  in  a  manner  at  once  inelegant  and  ex- 
pressive. 

"  No.  I  should  just  wear  his  heart  upon  my  sleeve  and 
peck  at  it  whenever  I  felt  inclined,"  Fabia  persisted :  "  but  I 
should  never  let  him  know  what  was  in  my  mind." 

"  So  I  used  to  think  in  my  single  days :  but  when  you're 
married,  you'll  find  the  sleeve  is  on  the  other  leg,  so  to 
speak.  He'll  wear  your  heart  upon  his  sleeve,  and  do  what- 
ever he  likes  with  it:  but  he  won't  peck  at  it,  because  men 
aren't  pecking  animals.  And  you'll  love  to  have  it  so." 

Fabia  smiled.  She  was  again  reminded  of  her  father  and 
his  cold  baths  and  windy  rides.  "  And  so  you  want  me  to 
marry  that  stupid  Captain  Gaythorne?  Surely  he  is  too 
stupid  to  want  to  marry  me?" 

"  Not  he!  He  adores  you,  and  he'd  be  an  excellent  hus- 
band." It  was  characteristic  of  Isabel  that  she  did  not  say 
— or  even  think — that  he  would  also  be  an  excellent  match. 

Fabia  noticed  this  omission  and  put  it  down  in  her  own 
mind  to  Isabel's  credit.  There  was  a  strain  of  fine  unworldli- 
ness  about  this  finished  woman  of  the  world  that  highly 
commended  itself  to  a  girl  brought  up  as  Fabia  had  been. 
In  the  whole  of  Isabel's  complex  nature  there  was  not  one 

[43] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

grain  of  snobbishness:  somewhat  rare  praise  to  be  given  to 
the  sons  and  daughters  of  Western  nations,  and  Fabia  ac- 
corded it  ungrudgingly.  "  But  he  has  got  a  face  like  a 
cherub's,"  she  objected. 

"  He  has  got  a  much  better  figure  than  a  cherub,"  re- 
torted Isabel. 

"  I  don't  know  that  a  cherub  has  a  bad  figure — what  there 
is  of  it." 

"  But  there's  plenty  of  Charlie's  figure — such  as  it  is." 

At  that  moment  the  butler  flung  open  the  door  announcing 
"  Mrs.  Gaythorne  and  Captain  Gaythorne." 

"  Talk  of  the  angels  and  the  devil  begins  wagging  his 
tail,"  murmured  Isabel  under  her  breath,  as  she  rose  to  re- 
ceive her  visitors. 


[44 1 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE     GAYTHORNES 

FABIA  was  right  when  she  said  that  Charlie  Gaythorne  had 
the  face  of  a  cherub  and  Isabel  was  still  more  correct  when 
she  asserted  that  he  had  not  the  figure  of  one.  He  was  one 
of  those  huge  men,  with  the  form  and  strength  of  an  athlete 
and  the  complexion  and  heart  of  a  little  child,  who  are 
essentially  a  home-product,  and  flourish  nowhere  save  in 
British  soil.  Even  more  typically  than  Isabel  herself,  he 
represented  the  denizens  of  that  happy  land  which  lies  se- 
curely within  the  precincts  of  the  red  cord.  For  over  five 
centuries  the  Gaythornes  had  dwelt  at  Gaythorne  Manor  in 
the  county  of  Mershire,  and  had  done  there  whatsoever 
seemed  right  in  their  own  eyes.  In  fact  in  the  eyes  of  all 
Mershire  whatsoever  a  Gaythorne  did  became  right  simply 
because  it  was  done  by  a  Gaythorne:  so  that  it  would  have 
been  difficult — not  to  say  impossible — for  a  Gaythorne  to 
do  wrong. 

But  the  Gaythornes  were  no  unworthy  race,  trailing  their 
honour  in  the  dust  and  using  their  liberty  as  a  cloak  for 
lower  things.  They  appreciated  the  duties  and  the  responsi- 
bilities of  their  local  infallibility  as  seriously  as  any  Pope 
could  have  done:  and  fulfilled  and  accepted  them  accord- 
ingly. They  were  one  of  the  families  that  make  us  realise 
the  advantages  of  the  feudal  system  as  it  existed  in  the 
Middle  Ages:  and  that  it  had  its  advantages  there  is  no 

[45] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

doubt.  The  Gaythorne  men  had  ever  been  strong-limbed, 
light  complexioned  and  clean-living,  fearing  God  and  hon- 
ouring the  King  as  all  true  Squires  should:  and  the  dames 
of  their  choice  had  ever  been  fair  women,  not  without  discre- 
tion withal,  whose  husbands  and  children  had  risen  up  and 
called  them  blessed. 

Of  intellectual  gifts  to  this  worthy  house  Nature  perhaps 
had  been  sparing.  No  Gaythorne  had  ever  written  books 
or  painted  pictures  or  intruded  his  ringers  into  the  pies  of 
State.  There  was  little  originality  or  individuality  in  this 
blameless  family's  records:  each  Squire  Gaythorne  had  been 
the  Squire  Gaythorne  of  his  day — neither  more  nor  less: 
each  had  been  one  of  a  set,  rather  than  a  unique  specimen. 
An  excellent  match  to  the  rest  of  the  set,  it  is  true,  but  not 
interesting  as  a  personality. 

Charlie's  father  had  been  a  perfect  instance  of  the  accepted 
Gaythorne  type:  too  perfect  for  there  to  be  anything  else  to 
be  said  about  him.  He  died  just  after  an  Indian  frontier 
war,  in  which  Charlie  had  won  distinction  and  nearly  lost 
an  arm:  whereupon  Charlie  left  the  service  and  entered 
into  his  kingdom:  and  was  now  reigning  at  Gaythorne 
Manor,  with  his  mother  as  Grand  Visier. 

Charlie  had  a  very  high  opinion  of  his  mother.  So  had 
she.  There  were  few,  if  indeed  any,  matters  small  or  great 
upon  which  Mrs.  Gaythorne  did  not  feel  herself  competent 
to  give  an  opinion:  and  Mrs.  Gaythorne's  opinions  were 
of  the  same  nature  as  Royal  invitations;  they  were  expected 
to  be  received  as  commands.  She  had  been — and  still  was — 
a  fine-looking  woman,  of  the  stately  and  statuesque  order: 
and  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  whether  she  most  resembled 
a  highly  religious  Juno  or  a  somewhat  worldly  Madonna. 
She  was  not  exactly  clever:  but  had  a  way  of  enunciating 

[46] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

commonplace  remarks  with  such  force  and  authority  that 
few  of  her  hearers  recognised  them  as  platitudes.  She  was  a 
very  good  woman  according  to  her  lights;  and  though  these 
lights  might  be  lamps  of  a  somewhat  antiquated  pattern, 
they  had  proved  themselves  safe  and  sure  lanterns  to  guide 
more  than  one  pair  of  wandering  feet  into  the  way  of 
peace. 

Mrs.  Gaythorne  invariably  dressed  in  black,  thereby  show- 
ing respect  for  her  husband's  memory  and  for  S.  Peter's 
injunction  as  to  female  dress,  at  the  same  time.  But  her 
broad  and  ample  bosom  was  as  gay  as  any  flower  garden  with 
various  and  many-coloured  ribbons  testifying  to  the  various 
virtues  she  adorned.  She  wore  a  blue  ribbon  to  show  she 
was  temperate,  and  a  white  ribbon  to  show  she  was  chaste: 
a  yellow  ribbon  to  show  she  was  Conservative,  and  a  green 
ribbon  to  show  she  was  kind :  an  orange  ribbon  to  show  she 
was  Protestant,  and  a  purple  ribbon  to  show  she  was  truth- 
ful: and  so  on  through  the  whole  prism  of  the  primary  and 
secondary  and  even  tertiary  virtues.  Not  that  there  was  any 
need  for  the  aid  of  these  coloured  illustrations  to  prove  to 
the  most  superficial  observer  that  Mrs.  Gaythorne  was  all — 
and  even  more  than  all — that  she  should  be:  but  she  wore 
them,  as  she  herself  explained,  for  the  force  of  example.  She 
was  a  sort  of  religious  decoy-duck,  decking  herself  in  those 
moral  feathers  which  are  popularly  supposed  to  produce 
moral  birds.  If  Mrs.  Gaythorne  wore  a  ribbon,  all  the 
women  in  Gaythorne  village  were  expected  to  wear  it  also: 
and,  moreover,  to  practise  that  inward  and  spiritual  grace 
whereof  it  was  the  outward  and  visible  sign :  a  practice  which 
did  not  come  quite  so  easy  to  some  of  them  as  it  did  to  the 
lady  of  the  manor. 

Now  in  Charlie  Gaythorne's  life  up  to  the  present  time 

[47] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

there  had  only  happened  three  events  of  importance — the  war 
on  the  Indian  frontier,  his  father's  death,  and  his  meeting 
with  Fabia  Vipart.  It  was  these  three  things  that  had  made 
a  man  of  him.  With  the  first  two  this  story  has  not 
to  deal:  but  without  the  last  it  could  hardly  have  been 
written. 

The  moment  that  Captain  Gaythorne  saw  Fabia's  face 
he  fell  in  love  with  it,  and  with  her  in  her  official  position 
as  its  owner.  Of  the  subtlety  of  her  intellect  he  knew  noth- 
ing at  all,  and  cared  less:  it  was  enough  for  him,  and  more 
than  enough  for  his  peace  of  mind,  that  she  was  beautiful : 
and  beautiful  without  doubt  she  was. 

There  is  a  theory  abroad  among  w^omen  that  the  love 
which  is  founded  upon  intellectual  gifts  is  more  enduring 
than  the  love  which  is  founded  upon  personal  attractions. 
Probably  it  does  \vear  well,  as  all  stiff  and  rather  wiry 
materials  do:  but  softer  and  warmer  stuffs  wear  well  also. 
The  love  that  wears  best  of  all — in  fact  the  only  love  that 
is  really  worth  having — is  not  the  love  that  loves  my  love 
with  a  B.  because  she  is  beautiful,  nor  the  love  that  loves 
my  C.  because  she  is  clever :  but  the  love  that  loves  my  love 
with  an  S.  because  She  is  She,  and  I  am  I,  and  we  two  are 
ourselves — and  therefore  each  other — for  all  time  and  eter- 
nity. There  is  no  better  reason  for  love  than  this:  which  is 
still  the  better  for  being  no  reason  at  all. 

Captain  Gaythorne  had  not  only  fallen  in  love  with 
Fabia :  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  marry  the  woman  whom 
he  loved  if  the  woman  whom  he  feared  approved.  And  it 
was  with  the  hope  of  obtaining  this  approval  that  he  had 
brought  Mrs.  Gaythorne  to  call  at  Prince's  Gardens  this 
very  afternoon,  to  be  introduced  to  the  lady  of  his  choice. 
It  was  characteristic  of  Charlie — and  therefore  of  all  the 

[48] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

Gaythornes — that  the  woman  upon  whose  probable  consent 
depended  his  proposal  was  not  the  woman  to  whom  he  wished 
to  propose,  but  his  mother.  It  never  even  occurred  to  him 
that  Fabia  might  object  to  marrying  him:  but  it  occurred 
to  him  with  uncomfortable  persistence  that  Mrs.  Gaythorne 
might  object  to  his  marrying  Fabia.  And  he  felt  that  he 
could  never  make  his  offer  of  marriage  if  she  did. 

Yet  Charlie  had  won  a  D.S.O.  in  India,  and  had  been 
accounted  a  brave  and  dangerous  enemy  by  the  natives! 
Thus  do  our  female  relations  make  cowards  of  us  all. 

Isabel  duly  introduced  Fabia  to  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  and  then 
rang  the  bell  for  tea.  At  least  she  set  out  with  the  inten- 
tion of  ringing  the  bell,  but  Charlie,  with  his  accustomed 
politeness,  insisted  on  forestalling  her:  and,  with  unaccus- 
tomed haste  and  nervousness,  succeeded  in  upsetting  the 
boomerang,  three  vases,  two  photographs  and  a  bunch  of 
pampas-grass  in  the  attempt.  He  was  eager  to  repair  his 
crime  by  picking  them  up  again:  but  Isabel  wisely  begged 
him  to  forbear,  and  to  upset  nothing  more:  as  she  said  she 
did  not  see  the  use  of  throwing  good  ornaments  after  bad 
ones — especially  when  the  ornaments  happened  to  belong  to 
her. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  of  my  tea,"  remarked  Mrs.  Gaythorne 
when  the  commotion  had  subsided :  "  I  am  thirsty."  She 
spoke  as  impressively  as  if  she  were  announcing  some  great 
scientific  truth.  "  I  have  just  been  taking  the  chair  at  the 
annual  meeting  of  the  Society  for  the  Propagation  of  the 
Church  Hymnal  among  the  inhabitants  of  the  Antarctic 
Circle,  and  am  now  on  my  way  to  preside  at  the  annual 
meeting  of  the  Anti-Tomato-League,  for  the  suppression  of 
tomatoes  as  an  article  of  diet:  and  consequently  I  require  a 
little  refreshment."  Mrs.  Gaythorne  was  guilty  of  one 

[49] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

human  frailty,  namely  an  inordinate  affectation  for  presid- 
ing over  public  meetings.  On  this  matter  she  knew  neither 
temperance  nor  restraint.  As  some  women  take  stimulants 
and  other  sedatives,  so  Mrs.  Gaythorne  took  chairs. 

"  I  never  partake  of  this  delicious  beverage,"  the  good 
lady  remarked  when  at  last  her  fleshly  cravings  had  been 
satisfied,  "  without  thinking  of  the  teeming  millions  in  China 
who  still  dwell  in  outer  darkness:  and  without  thanking  the; 
goodness  and  the  grace  which  saw  fit  to  plant  me  in  so  much 
more  favourable  surroundings — favourable  alike  to  my  natu- 
ral and  spiritual  condition.  Charles,  the  muffins." 

Charlie  hastened  to  lift  a  hot  plate  of  these  delicacies 
from  the  fire-place,  and  offer  them  to  his  hungry  parent. 
This  manoeuvre  he  carried  out  successfully,  as  he  was  gradu- 
ally gaining  strength  and  confidence,  and  was  far  less  ner- 
vous than  when  he  entered  the  room.  At  present  all  had 
gone  smoothly  between  his  mother  and  the  young  lady  she 
had  been  brought  to  inspect:  as  he  phrased  it  to  himself, 
"  they  are  getting  on  like  a  house  on  fire."  True,  the  con- 
versation had  hitherto  confined  itself  to  such  topics  as  might 
have  been  selected  on  the  occasion  of  a  visit  from  a  ther- 
mometer to  an  aneroid :  namely  the  present  weather  and 
temperature,  and  the  prospects  of  more  weather  and  tempera- 
ture in  the  future:  but  the  interchange  of  such  items  of 
atmospheric  information  as  had  been  public  property  for 
the  last  twenty-four  hours,  was  carried  on  in  so  cordial  a 
spirit  that  Charlie's  spirits  rose  considerably.  His  mother, 
too,  was  evidently  enjoying  her  tea,  which  was  a  good  sign. 
But,  alas!  her  carnal  needs  having  been  supplied,  she  unfor- 
tunately turned  to  higher  subjects. 

"  Isabel,  have  you  seen  anything  of  Gabriel  Carr  lately?  " 
she  suddenly  inquired  in  her  strident  voice. 

[50] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Gaythorne.  He  was  having  tea  with  me 
last  Sunday,  and  was  as  charming  and  delightful  as  ever." 

"  Having  tea — and  on  a  Sunday,  too?  I  should  have 
thought  that  a  clergyman  might  have  been  better  employed." 

Isabel  hastened  to  defend  her  friend.  "  He  was  better 
employed,  as  it  happened :  he  had  been  preaching  in  the  after- 
noon at  S.  Cuthbert's  and  was  going  to  preach  at  S.  Hilda's, 
so  he  called  and  had  tea  here  on  his  way,  in  order  not  to 
waste  his  time  by  going  back  home." 

"  I  cannot  approve  of  Sunday  visiting  for  clergymen :  they 
ought  to  be  preparing  their  sermons  in  the  intervals  between 
delivering  them,  and  not  to  be  wasting  the  time  in  eating 
and  drinking.  Charles,  another  muffin :  and  you,  Isabel,  I 
will  trouble  for  a  third  cup  of  tea.  I  feel  quite  exhausted 
after  my  speech  upon  Antarctic  Hymnology:  and  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  do  justice  to  the  Anti-Tomato  question 
unless  I  am  fully  fortified." 

The  dutiful  Charles  hastened  to  fortify  his  mother,  assisted 
by  Isabel ;  and  the  excellent  lady  calmly  continued :  "  I  am 
distressed — deeply  distressed — to  hear  that  Gabriel  has  intro- 
duced flowers  upon  the  Communion  Table  at  his  own  church : 
real  flowers,"  she  added,  as  if  artificial  ones  would  have  been 
less  heinous  in  her  eyes. 

"Why  on  earth  shouldn't  he?"  demanded  Isabel,  who 
was  nothing  if  not  courageous. 

"  Because  it  is  Popish — and  therefore  wrong." 
'  That  doesn't  follow.     In  the  first  place  I  don't  agree 
with  you  that  it  is  even  what  you  call  Popish :  but  even  if  it 
were,  that  wouldn't  prove  that  it  was  wrong.     The  two 
terms  are  not  synonymous.    You  might  just  as  well  say  that 
because  a  thing  was  Protestant  it  was  therefore  right." 
'  That  is  precisely  what  I  should  say,  Isabella.     More- 

[51] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

over,  the  Romans  are  so  narrow  and  bigoted,  believing  that 
no  man  is  right  except  themselves:  and  we  all  know  that 
narrowness  and  bigotry  are  most  un-Christian." 

"  They  certainly  are,  Mrs.  Gaythorne.  But,  all  the  same, 
I  cannot  agree  with  you  in  calling  things  Roman  which  are 
merely  Catholic." 

Charlie  moved  in  his  chair  uneasily.  He  did  not  want  to 
marry  Isabel,  so  it  did  not  much  matter  what  her  religious 
opinions  were:  but,  all  the  same,  he  wished  she  wouldn't 
inflame  his  mother — and  just  when  things  seemed  going  so 
smoothly,  too. 

"  Isabella,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  "  I  am  surprised 
at  you!  You  ought  to  know  better!  " 

"  I  do  know  better:  that's  what  I'm  just  saying,"  re- 
torted the  graceless  one,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Miss  Vipart,"  said  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  turning  so  sud- 
denly upon  Fabia  that  that  young  lady  fairly  jumped :  "  I 
trust  that  you  do  not  approve  of  Ritualism." 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Fabia  with  some  truth:  and  Charlie 
breathed  freely  again. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that — very  glad :  it  is  a  terrible  snare 
to  the  young."  By  "  the  young  "  Mrs.  Gaythorne  was  re- 
ferring to  Isabel:  but  naturally  Fabia  did  not  grasp  this. 

"  Why  to  the  young  especially?  "  she  innocently  asked. 

"  Because  the  young  are  foolish  and  ignorant,  being  sadly 
prone  to  run  after  any  new  fad  that  takes  their  fancy. 
Charles,  what  is  the  time?  I  must  on  no  account  be  late 
for  the  Anti-Tomato  meeting." 

"  Half-past  five,  mother.    Shall  I  call  you  a  cab?  " 

"  Not  for  another  ten  minutes.  My  meeting  does  not 
begin  until  six  o'clock:  and  I  consider  it  just  as  much  a  sin 
against  the  true  spirit  of  punctuality  to  be  too  early  as  to  be 

' 


OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

too  late.  Isabella,  I  repeat  that  I  do  not  understand  your 
present  attitude  of  mind." 

"  Probably  not,"  replied  Isabel.  "  Still,  Mrs.  Gaythorne, 
I  repeat  that  if,  as  you  say,  Gabriel  Carr  has  flowers  upon 
the  Altar,  I  think  he  is  quite  right." 

"  I  did  not  say  so,  Isabella:  how  can  you  so  misinterpret 
me?  I  said  upon  the  Communion  Table."  And  Mrs.  Gay- 
thorne fairly  glared. 

But  Isabel  stuck  to  her  guns.  "  If  it  is  right  for  us  to 
beautify  our  own  houses  with  flowers,  why  isn't  it  right  for 
us  to  beautify  God's  House?  " 

"  I  consider  that  even  in  our  own  dwellings  things  of  that 
kind  are  apt  to  harbour  dust."  And  Mrs.  Gaythorne  glared 
significantly  at  Isabel's  overturned  pampas-grass. 

The  latter  could  not  help  laughing.  "  Naturally,  when 
they  are  strewn  upon  the  floor:  but  you  will  do  me  the  justice 
to  admit  that  this  was  my  misfortune  and  Charlie's  fault. 
Gabriel's  flowers  are  not  strewn  upon  the  floor,  you  see: 
and  it  is  Gabriel's  flowers  that  we  are  discussing." 

"Are  they  not,  Isabella?  There  you  make  a  great  mis- 
take. I  have  heard — and  upon  very  good  authority — that 
upon  Palm  Sunday  Gabriel  actually  did  have  his  church 
strewn  with  willow-branches  which  he  chose  to  call  palms. 
Willow-branches,  mark  you:  actual  willow-branches:  and 
that  seems  to  me  even  worse  than  having  flowers  upon  the 
Communion  Table.  Miss  Vipart — "  here  Fabia  jumped 
again — "  you  will  agree  with  me,  I  am  sure :  I  think  you  said 
you  were  not  a  Ritualist." 

"No:  but  still,  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  you  can  hardly  con- 
sider me  an  authority  on  such  questions,  as  I  am  not  a 
Christian." 

Mrs.  Gaythorne  fairly  bounced  in  her  chair.     "  Not  a 

[53] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

Christian,  Miss  Vipart?  Surely  I  cannot  have  heard  you 
aright." 

Here  poor  Charlie  interposed,  wondering  what  evil  spirit 
had  prompted  Fabia's  untimely  confession,  to  lure  both  her- 
self and  him  to  their  destruction.  "  Never  mind,  mother,  what 
she  is:  she's  all  right — 'pon  my  soul,  she  is!  And  you'll  be 
awfully  late  for  your  meeting  if  you  don't  go  at  once." 

His  mother  brushed  him  aside  as  if  he  had  been  an  irri- 
tating midge.  "  Silence,  Charles:  I  have  yet  four  minutes." 
Then  turning  again  to  Fabia,  "  Do  I  understand  you  to  say 
that  you  are  a  heathen,  Miss  Vipart?  " 

"  Practically  so,  I  am  afraid." 

"  Then  how  do  you  expect  to  be  saved  ?  " 

"  I  don't  expect  it.  I  don't  expect  anybody  to  be  saved — 
not  you  nor  I  nor  anybody  else." 

Here  Charlie  gasped,  and  even  Isabel  held  her  breath. 
The  mere  idea  of  not  expecting  Mrs.  Gaythorne  to  be  saved 
seemed  almost  stupendous  in  its  blasphemy.  Poor  Charlie 
felt  that  all  was  over  between  himself  and  Fabia:  and  Isabel 
considered  that  whatever  punishment  the  affronted  lady 
chose  to  inflict  upon  the  culprit,  would  be  well  deserved. 
So  they  both  waited  in  helpless  silence  to  see  what  form  the 
merited  chastisement  would  take. 

But  they  had  reckoned  w-ithout  their  host. 

Mrs.  Gaythorne  rose  from  her  chair,  and  walked  majes- 
tically across  the  room  to  where  Fabia  was  sitting,  and  laid 
her  beautiful  hand  upon  the  girl's  shoulder.  "  My  dear," 
she  said,  and  her  voice  was  no  longer  strident,  but  reminded 
Charlie  of  what  it  used  to  be  when  he  was  ill  as  a  little 
boy,  "  I  should  like  to  see  more  of  you,  and  to  help  you. 
If  you  will  come  to  my  house  I  will  read  to  you  and  pray 
with  you  and  do  all  that  I  can — under  God — to  teach  you 

[54] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

to  be  His  child."  Then,  before  the  other  three  could 
recover  from  their  astonishment,  "  Charles,  my  cab.  It  is 
twenty  minutes  to  six." 

Charlie  and  Isabel  were  dumbfoundered.  They  thought 
they  knew  Mrs.  Gaythorne  out  and  out:  but  they  had  never 
calculated  upon  her  behaving  in  this  way.  They  were  alto- 
gether out  of  their  reckoning.  For  they  had  forgotten  that 
there  is  a  power  stronger  than  prejudice  or  bigotry  or  in- 
vincible ignorance — a  power  which  constrains  men  and 
women  today,  as  it  constrained  the  Apostles  of  old — the 
power  of  the  love  of  Christ. 


[55] 


CHAPTER    V 

POLITICAL    LIFE 

LORD  WREXHAM  \vas  Prime  Minister  of  England  at  the 
time  when  this  story  opens.  He  was  a  bachelor  for  reasons 
which  have  been  told  elsewhere:  he  was  a  Premier  for  rea- 
sons which  have  not  yet  been  mentioned:  the  principal  one 
of  which  was  that  nobody  considered  him  specially  suited — 
and  therefore  nobody  else  considered  him  specially  unsuited 
— for  the  office.  When  half  of  a  political  party  is  crying 
out  to  be  governed  by  A.,  and  another  half  is  shrieking 
equally  loudly  for  the  guidance  of  B.,  it  happens  not  infre- 
quently that  the  lot  finally  falls  upon  C.,  for  the  good  reason 
that  he  is  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  Nobody  is  particu- 
larly delighted  by  his  elevation  to  power — consequently  no- 
body else  is  particularly  annoyed  by  it — and  so  everybody 
is  pleased  all  round:  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  is  not  dis- 
pleased, perfection  of  any  kind  never  being  more  than 
approximate  in  politics. 

Of  course  many  men  owe  their  success  in  life  to  the  fact 
that  they  are  themselves:  but  quite  as  many  owe  it  to  the 
fact  that  they  are  not  somebody  else — which  is  by  no  means 
the  same  thing,  though  to  the  superficial  it  may  appear  so. 

Lord  Wrexham  would  never  have  become  Prime  Minis- 
ter because  he  was  what  he  was :  he  was  raised  to  that  dignity 
and  honour  simply  because  he  wasn't  what  he  wasn't.  Isabel 
Carnaby  once  nearly  married  him  because  he  was  not  Paul 
Seaton:  she  also  jilted  him  for  the  same  sufficient  reason: 

[56] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

and  ft  was  this  negative  characteristic  of  his — this  power,  so 
to  speak,  of  not  being  other  people — that  made  it  possible 
for  a  friendship  still  to  exist  between  himself  and  her,  and 
for  Isabel  and  her  husband  to  come  and  stay  at  Vernacre. 
Had  she  become  Lady  Wrexham,  there  would  have  been  no 
friendship,  and  no  possibility  of  one,  between  herself  and 
Paul  Seaton. 

One  might  write  a  treatise  upon  the  men — and  their 
name  is  Legion — who  are  neither  A.  nor  B.,  but  simply  C. 
They  form  a  large  and  influential  class  of  the  community. 
They  accomplish  much  in  life:  but  by  negative  rather  than 
by  positive  means.  They  own  more  wisdom  than  charm — 
more  solid  sense  than  strong  personality.  Theirs  is  not 
the  magnetic  force  which  sways  men  and  subjugates 
women — which  at  first  sight  either  irresistibly  attracts  or 
unaccountably  repulses :  but  the  staying  power  which  com- 
mands respect  rather  than  admiration — the  gentle  reason- 
ableness which  convinces  rather  than  compels.  These  men 
of  the  C.  Division  of  Society  make  uninteresting  lovers  but 
unexceptionable  husbands:  they  can  carry  out  an  accepted 
policy  better  than  they  can  lead  a  forlorn  hope.  But  usually 
they  are  honest  men  and  good  citizens :  and  almost  invariably 
they  are  gentlemen. 

Such  a  man  was  Lord  Wrexham,  the  Prime  Minister. 

At  the  time  of  this  story  the  then  sitting  Parliament  had 
passed  its  zenith,  and  there  was  no  doubt  that  its  successor 
would  insist  upon  a  thorough  shuffling  of  the  political  cards. 
The  party — as  is  not  unusual  with  Liberal  parties — was 
divided :  otherwise  Lord  Wrexham  would  never  have  been 
selected  as  its  head.  There  was  no  doubt  that  if  the  Liberals 
remained  in  power  after  the  General  Election,  a  place  in 
the  Cabinet  must  be  found  for  Paul  Seaton,  the  Under- 

[57] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

Secretary  of  War  and  the  leader  of  the  more  advanced 
section  of  the  party :  and  the  inclusion  of  Seaton  in  a  Cabinet 
meant  to  a  great  extent  the  adoption  by  that  Cabinet  of  the 
policy  which  he  advocated;  as,  in  addition  to  being  an  able 
man  himself,  he  represented  a  section  of  the  party  too  large 
and  influential  to  be  set  aside. 

Now  Mrs.  Paul  Seaton  was  an  excellent  wife,  loving  and 
reverencing  her  husband  with  her  whole  heart  as  a  good 
wife  should :  but  she  did  not  agree  with  him  in  politics.  She 
had  been  brought  up  in  the  good  old  Whig  school  by  her 
uncle,  Sir  Benjamin  Farley:  and,  being  a  clever  woman, 
she  had  not  just  accepted  with  unquestioning  simplicity  the 
political  tenets  in  which  she  had  been  trained — she  had 
carefully  weighed  them  for  herself  and  had  not  found  them 
wanting.  When  mature  judgment  sets  its  seal  of  approval 
upon  the  traditions  of  youth,  those  traditions  become  fixed 
principles  which  it  is  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  uproot, 
as  they  crown  with  the  sanction  of  later  reason  the  sanctity 
of  earlier  romance — a  combination  of  almost  impregnable 
strength.  Therefore  Seaton's  wife  could  not  see  eye  to  eye 
with  him  on  these  matters,  much  as  she  would  have  liked  to 
do  so.  Although  in  actual  years  she  was  slightly  younger 
than  her  husband,  in  her  outlook  upon  life  she  was  older 
than  he,  women  always  maturing  more  quickly  than  men: 
consequently  her  politics  were  those  of  an  elderly  man,  while 
his  were  those  of  a  young  one.  He  had  still  the  hopefulness 
and  enthusiasm  of  the  knight-errant,  who  is  always  setting 
forth  upon  marvellous  quests  for  the  righting  of  the  wrong, 
or  the  succour  of  the  helpless,  or  the  seeing  of  wonderful 
and  unearthly  visions:  while  she  had  already  learnt  that 
the  patching  of  old  garments  with  new  cloth  often  makes 
the  rent  worse — that  by  endeavouring  to  right  a  wrong,  men 

[58] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

sometimes  increase  it — and  that  the  time  of  visions  is  over- 
past. Paul's  certainty  that  he  had  discovered  a  panacea 
for  most  political  and  social  and  commercial  ills,  and  his 
joyous  belief  in  the  ultimate  success  of  the  same,  awoke  no 
answering  chord  in  Isabel's  breast.  She  was  just  as  anxious 
as  he  was  that  the  country  and  the  party  should  alike 
flourish :  she  was  considerably  more  anxious  than  he  was  that 
Paul  Seaton  should  eventually  become  Prime  Minister:  but 
she  differed  from  him  as  to  the  best  means  for  procuring 
these  desirable  ends.  She  had  unbounded  admiration  for 
her  husband's  powers — unlimited  faith  in  his  abilities:  but 
she  feared  that  his  over-sanguine  disposition  would  lead  him 
to  strike  before  the  iron  was  quite  hot  enough,  and  to 
attempt  to  seize  the  prize  before  it  was  in  his  grasp. 

Paul's  chief  end  in  view  was  the  good  of  his  country: 
Isabel's  chief  end  in  view  was  the  advancement  of  Paul: 
and  she  was  terrified  lest  in  a  moment  of  misdirected  zeal 
or  misguided  altruism  he  should  commit  himself  to  a  course 
of  action  which  should  eventually  militate  against  his  per- 
sonal success.  She  hated  to  disappoint  him  by  refusing  to 
share  his  enthusiasms :  but  she  hated  still  more  to  see  him,  as 
she  thought,  preparing  disappointment  for  himself  by  build- 
ing political  air-castles  as  unsubstantial  as  the  pageant  of 
Prospero. 

From  the  bottom  of  her  heart  Isabel  dreaded  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  Liberals  in  power  after  the  General  Elec- 
tion. She  knew  that  there  must  be  fundamental  changes  in 
the  Government  if  the  country  decided  on  enjoying  six  years 
more  of  Liberal  administration:  Lord  Wrexham's  sitting- 
still  policy  could  not  last  through  another  Parliament.  The 
new  men  with  the  new  measures  would  come  to  the  front: 
and  she  shrank  from  the  consequence  of  what  this  coming 

[59] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

to  the  front  might  mean.  Perhaps  she  was  right — perhaps 
she  was  wrong:  that  is  not  the  business  of  a  mere  story- 
teller to  decide :  but  she  was  convinced  in  her  own  mind  that 
the  changes  which  her  husband  and  his  friends  were  con- 
templating, would,  if  carried  out,  result  in  disappointment 
to  themselves  and  their  party,  and  disaster  to  the  country  at 
large:  and  accordingly  she  longed  to  induce  them  to  stay 
their  hands.  Failing  this,  she  hoped  that  the  Liberals  would 
be  beaten  at  the  next  Election,  and  so  be  provided  with  a 
period  of  Opposition  wherein  to  learn  more  about  them- 
selves and  their  country  than  they  knew  at  present. 

She  had  lived  long  enough  in  the  political  world  to  learn 
that  there — even  more  than  anywhere  else — it  is  a  mistake 
to  do  anything  in  a  hurry.  But  she  had  likewise  lived  long 
enough  in  the  political  world  to  learn  that  there — more 
than  anywhere  else — men  are  in  a  hurry  to  do  things:  the 
old  men  because  they  are  old,  and  the  young  men  because 
they  are  young:  the  young  men  because  there  is  so  much  to 
be  done,  and  the  old  men  because  there  is  so  little  time  in 
which  to  do  it. 

But  the  man  who  takes  his  politics  from  his  wife  may 
be  a  good  husband  but  he  is  not  a  great  politician.  Perhaps 
he  is  not  altogether  the  best  sort  of  husband,  either.  Modern 
novelists  may  know  better,  but  the  Apostle  distinctly  stated 
that  the  husband  is  the  head  of  the  wife:  daily  newspapers 
may  take  a  wider  view,  but  the  Bible  gives  the  wife  no  op- 
tion save  to  be  in  subjection  to  her  husband.  The  husband 
has  the  right  to  rule  by  the  most  divine  right  of  kingship: 
and  a  king  who  is  afraid  to  exercise  his  royal  prerogative  is 
hardly  the  highest  type  of  king. 

Therefore  Paul  Seaton  believed  that  in  certain  things — 
politics  included — he  knew  better  than  his  wife:  and  he 

[60] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

acted  up  to  this  belief  in  all  uprightness  and  simplicity  of 
heart. 

They  did  not  quarrel  over  the  question :  they  were  far  too 
good  comrades  for  that :  but  they  held  respectively  their  own 
opinions  as  to  the  best  way  of  governing  the  country  and  of 
improving  its  outlook:  and  they  talked  it  all  out  fully  to- 
gether. Although  Paul  was  too  much  of  a  man  to  take  his 
views  from  his  wife  ready-made,  there  is  no  doubt  that  they 
were  considerably  modified  by  Isabel's  influence.  And  no 
blame  to  him  for  that!  For  even  the  greatest  of  the  Apos- 
tles, who  was  himself  a  married  man,  permitted  that  hus- 
bands should  be  won  by  the  conversation  of  the  wives,  so 
long  as  that  conversation  was  coupled  with  fear. 

One  evening  after  dinner  Paul  and  Isabel  were  sitting 
alone,  Lady  Farley  having  taken  Fabia  to  the  Opera:  and 
were  discussing  the  present  political  situation  and  the  pros- 
pects for  the  future. 

"  You  are  a  faint-hearted  fair  lady,"  said  Paul :  "  you 
haven't  the  courage  of  your  convictions." 

"  I  haven't  the  courage  of  yours,  you  mean." 

"  It  comes  to  the  same  thing." 

Isabel  shook  her  head.     "  Not  quite." 

"Well,  just  you  wait  and  see!  If  we  come  in  again  at 
the  next  Election — of  which  there  seems  every  possibility: 
and  if  they  give  me  a  place  in  the  Cabinet — of  which  there 
seems  every  probability:  we  shall  bring  about  such  a  revolu- 
tion in  domestic  policy  that  the  country  will  flourish  as  it 
has  not  flourished  for  years.  It  will  be  the  dawning  of  a 
golden  age." 

But  again  Isabel  shook  her  head.  "  You  are  always  so 
sanguine.  The  golden  age  has  never  dawned  yet :  why  should 
it  begin  now?  " 


THE   SUBJECTION 

"  Dearest,  you  are  growing  very  Conservative." 

"  Am  I  ?  I  don't  mean  to.  But  if  only  you  are  one  thing 
long  enough,  you  suddenly  find  that  you  are  another,  the 
difference  between  one  thing  and  another  being  merely  a 
difference  in  time.  If  you  go  on  being  a  Liberal  long 
enough,  you  suddenly  find  yourself  a  Conservative:  if  you 
only  go  on  being  a  High-Churchman  long  enough,  you  sud- 
denly find  yourself  an  Evangelical:  if  you  go  on  being  a 
young  woman  long  enough,  you  suddenly  find  yourself  an 
old  one.  It  isn't  yourself  that  alters:  you  stand  still  and 
the  world  goes  round :  so  that  you  inevitably  get  somewhere 
else  by  persistently  stopping  where  you  are." 

"  Silly  little  child !  Just  wait  and  see  what  the  Liberals 
are  going  to  do,  and  then  you  won't  be  a  Conservative  any 
longer.  You  must  march  with  the  times,  my  dearest." 

"  I  can't.  I'm  getting  too  old  for  such  violent  exercise. 
But,  Paul,  you  always  seem  to  think  that  any  change  is  of 
necessity  an  improvement — that  new  lamps  are  invariably 
better  than  old." 

"  Well,  aren't  they?    New  brooms  always  sweep  clean." 

"  And  new  boots  almost  always  pinch." 

Paul  laughed.  He  was  so  sure  of  himself — so  sure  of  his 
convictions — that  his  wife's  warnings  rolled  off  his  back 
like  water  off  a  duck's.  Underneath  his  somewhat  staid 
and  serious  manner  was  hidden  all  the  confidence  of  the 
self-made  man:  while  Isabel's  cheerful  and  careless  light- 
heartedness  concealed  the  half-cynical  wisdom  of  the  woman 
of  the  world. 

"  Darling,"  he  said  with  a  smile;  "  your  pessimism  is  very 
funny." 

"  And  so  is  your  optimism,  when  you  come  to  that," 
retorted  Isabel. 

[62] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

And  then  they  each  laughed  at  the  other  like  a  pair  of 
happy  children. 

Suddenly  Paul's  face  grew  grave.  "  There  is  only  one 
thing  that  bothers  me,"  he  said. 

"  And  what  is  that,  darling  ?  "  Isabel's  love  was  up  in 
arms  for  his  succour  and  defence. 

"  Well,  the  Governorship  of  Tasmania  will  be  vacant 
shortly  and " 

Isabel  interrupted  him.  "  How  is  that?  The  Grave- 
sends'  time  is  not  nearly  up.  It  seems  only  yesterday  that 
Lord  Gravesend  was  made  Governor  of  Tasmania  to  com- 
fort him  and  Eleanor  for  losing  the  situation  in  New  North 
Wales,  when  New  North  Wales  decided  not  to  keep  a  pet 
Governor  of  its  own  any  longer." 

"  That  is  so :  but  Gravesend's  health  is  breaking  down, 
and  they  are  afraid  he  will  have  to  resign  and  come  home 
before  his  time  is  up.  And  if  the  Liberals  are  still  in  office 
when  that  happens,  I  am  desperately  afraid  that  Wrexham 
will  offer  it  to  me." 

For  a  minute  Isabel's  heart  stood  still.  Here  was  a  way 
out  of  all  her  troubles,  and  a  very  pleasant  way  too.  She 
would  love  above  all  things  to  be  an  Excellency,  as  her 
aunt  had  been  before  her:  and  then — if  Paul  were  busy 
governing  Tasmania, — he  would  not  be  hurrying  in  those 
measures  for  the  improvement  of  England,  for  which  she 
did  not  think  the  times  were  yet  ripe.  She  considered  that 
five  years  of  Colonial  Government  would  not  only  add  to 
her  husband's  practical  experience  and  increase  his  adminis- 
trative ability,  but  would  also  enable  the  English  constitu- 
encies to  become  accustomed  to  the  new  ideas  which  the 
Liberal  party — either  in  office  or  in  opposition — intended 
shortly  to  formulate. 

[63] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

"Oh!  I  should  adore  it,"  she  exclaimed. 

Paul's  face  grew  still  longer.  "  I  was  afraid  you  would. 
It  was  that  which  decided  me  that  I  couldn't  refuse  it  if  it 
were  offered.  Moreover  I  don't  think  that  a  poor  man 
like  myself  would  be  justified  in  refusing  such  a  good  thing 
from  a  pecuniary  point  of  view,  although  I'm  afraid  it  would 
be  the  end  of  my  political  career." 

"  Not  it !  You  are  still  a  young  man :  you  can  afford  to 
wait.  At  the  end  of  five  years  you  would  be  older  and — yet 
not  old."  She  was  too  wise  to  say  "  wiser,"  though  the  word 
wras  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue. 

"  Still  Gravesend  may  be  able  to  hang  on — at  any  rate 
until  the  new  Parliament,"  said  Paul  with  his  accustomed 
hopefulness:  "and  that  would  decide  the  matter  for  itself. 
Of  course  if  I  were  certain  that  a  Liberal  majority  would 
again  be  returned  at  the  General  Election,  I  should  be  all 
right  in  saying  No:  but  if  we  are  going  out  of  office,  and  I 
shall  have  to  drop  my  official  salary,  I  don't  feel  it  is  fair 
to  you  to  refuse  this  income  and  position." 

Isabel  came  up  to  him,  and  put  her  arms  round  his  neck. 

"  Darling,  promise  me  that  if  it  is  offered  to  you,  you 
won't  refuse."  She  was  so  certain  that  this  would  be  the 
wisest  course  for  him  as  well  as  for  her,  that  she  did  not 
hesitate  to  make  the  request. 

"  Of  course  I  promise,  my  own."  When  she  asked  him  in 
that  tone,  there  was  nothing  on  earth  that  he  would  not  have 
promised  her. 


[64] 


CHAPTER   VI 

ISABEL'S  VIEWS 

THE  Secretary  of  State  for  War,  Lord  Kesterton,  was  din- 
ing with  the  Seatons  one  evening  not  very  long  after  Fabia's 
appearance  in  their  midst.  The  party  consisted  of  Mr. 
Greenstreet  (a  rising  author),  Miss  Vipart  and  himself: 
and  the  conversation,  as  is  usual  in  political  circles,  turned 
upon  politics.  There  are  no  such  people  for  talking  shop 
as  politicians:  there  is  no  shop  more  fascinating  to  talk:  but 
in  every  world — be  it  the  political  world  or  the  literary  or 
the  artistic  or  the  religious,  or  any  other  world  that  ever 
was  created — there  is  nothing  so  well  worth  talking  as  shop, 
and  nothing  that  clever  people  are  more  ready,  and  stupid 
people  more  reluctant,  to  discourse  upon. 

There  is  something  very  weird  and  strange  in  the  ordinary 
man's  deeply  ingrained  horror  of  conversing  upon  the  one 
subject  upon  which  he  is  competent  to  converse.  He  appears 
to  consider  it  a  virtue  on  his  part  to  avoid,  as  if  it  were  the 
plague,  the  one  theme  upon  which  he  is  at  home,  and  to 
descant  at  length  upon  those  matters  about  which  he  knows 
absolutely  nothing.  He  is  obsessed  with  a  wild  notion  that 
he  will  become  a  bore  to  his  hearers  if  he  endeavours  to 
interest  them  in  those  questions  in  which  he  himself  is  in- 
terested: little  recking,  poor  deluded  soul!  that  he  is  in 
far  more  imminent  danger  of  becoming  a  bugbear  if  he 
strives  to  instruct  them  in  matters  about  which  they  know 
far  more  than  he. 

[65] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

People  are  never  really  at  their  best  except  when  they 
are  talking  about  what  is  commonly  called  shop:  for  it  is 
only  then  that  they  thoroughly  forget  themselves  and  lose 
themselves  in  their  subject.  Even  a  plumber  if  he  talked 
pure  plumb  would  be  well  worth  listening  to:  he  might 
enlighten  even  the  most  enlightened  among  us  as  to  why  he 
always  leaves  his  inevitable  white  lead  at  home,  and  has  to 
go  back  again  to  fetch  it  before  he  can  do  anything ;  and  why 
he  usually  begins  his  day's  work  half-an-hour  before  dinner- 
time— and  might  explain  other  mysterious  matters  connected 
with  his  own  peculiar  profession  which  the  lay  mind  has  long 
striven  in  vain  to  grasp.  But  take  him  off  his  own  subject, 
and  then  probably  he  will  be  very  poor  company  indeed. 
And  what  is  true  of  him  is  more  or  less  true  of  us  all. 

It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  women  are  less  blame- 
worthy in  this  respect  than  men — principally  because,  though 
frequently  less  selfish,  they  are  as  a  rule  more  egotistic.  They 
rarely  shrink  from  talking  pure  and  unadulterated  shop — 
especially  with  each  other.  If  the  shop  happens  to  be  in 
any  sense  of  the  word  a  work-shop,  all  well  and  good:  the 
talker  is  usually  worth  listening  to:  but  if  the  emporium 
resolves  itself  into  nothing  more  than  a  cook-shop  or  a  baby- 
linen  warehouse — well,  then  Heaven  help  the  listener! 

All  of  which  brings  us  back  to  the  starting-point  that 
the  Seatons  and  their  guests  were  talking  shop. 

"  How  long  do  you  think  we  shall  be  able  to  keep  our- 
selves in  office,  Lord  Kesterton,  with  such  a  mighty  atom 
of  a  majority?  "  asked  Isabel.  "  It  makes  life  hard  for  the 
women  and  children  of  the  party  when  the  majority  is  so 
small  that  the  men  can  hardly  ever  come  home  to  dinner! " 

"  The  men  of  the  party  ought  to  feel  flattered,  Mrs. 
Seaton." 

[66] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

Isabel  shook  her  head.  "  Not  if  they  knew  the  truth : 
men  would  very  rarely  feel  flattered  if  they  knew  the  truth. 
That  is  why  really  good  kind  women  try  their  best  to  keep 
it  from  them." 

"  A  noble  effort,  nobly  sustained !  "  exclaimed  Green- 
street. 

"What  is  the  unflattering  truth  in  this  case?"  enquired 
Lord  Kesterton,  with  the  smile  which  Isabel  never  failed 
to  evoke  from  him. 

"  The  truth  is  that  when  the  men  don't  come  home  to 
dinner  the  women  don't  get  enough  to  eat.  Of  course  when 
we're  dining  out  it  is  all  right:  as  we  then  not  only  get 
enough  to  eat,  but  we  can  tell  all  our  best  stories  as  effec- 
tively and  untruthfully  as  we  like,  without  having  any  tire- 
some husband  at  hand  to  pick  the  embroidery  off.  But  no 
woman  can  order  a  proper  dinner  for  herself  alone:  such  a 
course  is  in  direct  opposition  to  her  finest  and  most  feminine 
instincts !  " 

Paul  looked  quite  serious.  "  Isabel,  this  is  very  wrong 
of  you,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  dinner  went  on  just  the  same 
whether  I  was  here  or  not." 

"Ah!  that  is  just  what  a  man  would  think.  To  him 
dinner  is  the  sort  of  thing  that  always  must  happen — like 
the  sunrise  or  the  opening  of  Parliament  or  Christmas  Day. 
But  a  woman  loves  to  evade  it  if  she  can:  it  is  the  nature 
of  her  to  do  so — something  in  her  rnake.  Somebody  once 
said  that  an  ordinary  woman's  favourite  dinner  is  an  egg  in 
the  drawing-room:  and  it  is  quite  true.  I  couldn't  enjoy  a 
Lord  Mayor's  banquet  half  as  much  as  the  dear  little  scratch 
meals  I  have  on  a  tray  in  my  boudoir  before  I  go  to  the 
theatre  when  Paul  isn't  here." 

"  I  have  long  noticed,"  remarked  Mr.  Greenstreet,  "  and 

[67] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

marvelled  at  the  universal  passion  of  women  of  all  classes 
of  society  for  what  they  call  '  something  on  a  tray.'  To  the 
masculine  mind,  things  on  trays  are  unsatisfying  and  repel- 
lant:  but  to  the  feminine  body  they  are  as  the  very  manna 
from  Heaven.  Miss  Vipart,"  he  continued  turning  to  Fabia, 
"  confess  that  you  too  feel  the  fascination  of  something 
on  a  tray." 

"  I  do,"  replied  Fabia :  "  I  confess  it  unhesitatingly.  I 
enjoy  quite  as  much  as  Mrs.  Seaton  does  our  little  picnics 
in  the  boudoir  before  we  rush  off  to  the  play." 

Greenstreet  sighed.  "  I  suspected  as  much.  Bread  eaten 
in  secret  is  the  favourite  food  of  the  normal  woman.  It  is 
merely  another  proof  of  her  innate  distaste  for  everything 
that  is  straightforward  and  above-board." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  retorted  the  host:  "  it  is  a  proof  of  her 
innate  unselfishness.  If  only  her  menkind  are  properly  cared 
for,  she  doesn't  care  a  rap  what  happens  to  herself." 

"Hear,  hear!"  cried  Isabel  from  the  other  end  of  the 
table.  "  I  have  much  pleasure  in  seconding  the  amendment 
of  the  honourable  member.  It  is  our  glorious  unselfishness 
that  is  at  the  root  of  the  tray-system:  no  woman  is  capable 
of  the  deliberate  and  cold-blooded  selfishness  of  ordering  a 
full,  true  and  particular  dinner  for  her  own  consumption. 
.Why,  if  you  remember,  even  Eve  couldn't  properly  enjoy 
the  celebrated  apple  until  she'd  got  her  husband  to  share  it 
with  her:  and  we  arg  all  like  that,  bless  our  dear  little 
hearts !  " 

"  You  are,  you  are !  "  echoed  the  devoted  husband :  "  and 
no  one  knows  it  better  than  my  fortunate  self." 

"  It  is  always  elevating,"  sai'd  Lord  Kesterton,  "  to  hear 
the  remarks  upon  matrimony  by  Benedick  the  married  man." 

"  When  his  wife  happens  to  be  within  earshot,"  added 

[68] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

Greenstreet.  "  At  a  large  dinner-party  it  is  interesting  and 
instructive  to  note  the  difference  between  the  conversation 
of  the  men  whose  wives  can  hear  what  they  are  saying,  and 
the  conversation  of  the  men  whose  wives  can't." 

"  There  isn't  much  they  can't  hear  if  they  want  to,"  said 
Paul  with  a  laugh.  "  The  experienced  husband  doesn't 
trust  too  much  to  any  apparent  disability  on  that  score." 

"  For  shame,  for  shame,  Mr.  Seaton,  for  letting  out  the 
secrets  of  the  prison-house  in  this  way !  "  exclaimed  Fabia. 

Greenstreet  fairly  groaned.  "  Secrets,  good  heavens!  She 
calls  them  secrets !  She  thinks  that  the  world  cannot  see  the 
manacles  of  the  model  husband,  or  else  mistakes  them  for 
garlands  of  roses!  For  an  unrivalled  power  of  sprinkling  a 
few  grains  of  sand  on  the  top  of  her  bonnet,  and  thinking  that 
she  thereby  successfully  hides  herself  and  her  foibles  from  the 
trained  eye  of  man,  give  me  not  the  much-maligned  ostrich 
but  woman,  lovely  woman !  " 

"  All  the  same,  Mr.  Greenstreet,"  Fabia  persisted,  "  I 
don't  believe  that  men  do  see  the  faults  and  failings  of  their 
wives." 

"  Don't  you,  Miss  Vipart?  "  replied  Greenstreet  "  Well, 
then  all  I  can  say  is  that  Seaton  must  be  a  very  clever  man. 
You've  been  staying  in  this  house  for  several  weeks  now, 
haven't  you?  " 

"Yes;  five." 

Greenstreet  looked  thoughtful.  "  A  very  clever  man !  A 
marvellously  clever  man!  Seaton,  I  have  always  admired 
your  varied  gifts,  but  until  this  moment  I  never  did  you  full 
justice." 

Isabel  laughed  with  delight.  She  had  a  great  liking  for 
Mr.  Greenstreet,  because  he  always  talked  nonsense  to  her, 
and  Isabel  was  one  of  the  women  who  revel  in  the  talking 

[69] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

of  nonsense.  Lord  Wrexham  had  never  talked  nonsense  to 
her:  if  he  had,  she  would  probably  by  now  have  been  the 
wife  of  the  Prime  Minister,  instead  of  only  the  wife  of  the 
Under-Secretary  for  War.  And  even  Paul  did  not  talk  as 
much  nonsense  to  her  as  she  would  have  liked:  he  would 
perhaps  have  been  wiser  in  his  dealings  with  her  if  he  had 
not  always  been  quite  so  wise. 

"  Seaton,"  Greenstreet  continued,  "  gifts  such  as  yours 
cannot  languish  in  oblivion:  a  man  with  your  marvellous 
slow-sightedness  and  your  unparalleled  dulness  of  perception 
cannot  fail  to  end  your  days  as  either  Emperor  of  China  or 
Prime  Minister  of  England." 

Here  his  hostess  interrupted  him.  "  Talking  of  Prime 
Minister  reminds  me  that  you've  never  answered  my  ques- 
tion, Lord  Kesterton.  How  long  is  Wrexham  going  to  keep 
the  party  in  office  with  such  a  small  majority?" 

"  Considerably  longer  than  anybody  else  could  do  in  his 
place,"  replied  Lord  Kesterton:  "  that  is  all  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Why  will  Lord  Wrexham  keep  the  party  in  office 
longer  than  other  people  could  ?  "  asked  Fabia. 

"  Because,  my  dear  young  lady,  he  possesses  all  the  quali- 
ties requisite  for  an  ideal  Prime  Minister." 

"  And  pray  what  are  they  ?  "  continued  Fabia  pursuing 
the  subject,  and  pleased  that  she  should — if  only  for  a  mo- 
ment— have  diverted  the  attention  of  the  Secretary  of  State 
for  War  from  Isabel  to  herself. 

"  His  first  and  finest  gift,"  Lord  Kesterton  replied,  "  is 
the  solid  absence  of  anything  approaching  brilliancy.  The 
great  heart  of  the  English  people  does  not  love  brilliant 
men." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because,  my  dear  Miss  Vipart,  it  does  not  understand 

[70] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

and  therefore  cannot  trust  them.  Human  nature  rarely  trusts 
what  it  cannot  understand:  and  how  can  a  nation  whose 
blood  is  beer  and  whose  body  is  roast-beef  place  confidence 
in  persiflage  or  find  security  in  epigram?" 

"  And  what  other  fine  quality  has  Lord  Wrexham  besides 
the  absence  of  brilliancy?"  Fabia  further  inquired. 

"  He  is  very  practical ;  and  he  has  an  admirable  temper." 

"  And  is  an  admirable  temper  such  an  excellent  thing  in 
statesmen?"  asked  Greenstreet. 

"Most  excellent,"  was  Lord  Kesterton's  reply:  "as  in- 
deed in  everybody  else.  The  statesman  who  loses  his  tem- 
per loses  his  followers:  the  man  who  loses  his  temper  loses 
his  friends." 

"And  what  about  the  woman  who  loses  her  temper?" 
asked  Fabia. 

Lord  Kesterton  bowed  with  mock  gallantry.  "  There  is 
no  such  person,  my  dear  young  lady.  A  woman  never  loses 
her  temper." 

"  Some  of  them  manage  to  do  something  singularly  like  it 
at  times,"  remarked  Greenstreet. 

"  No,"  Lord  Kesterton  repeated,  "  a  woman  never  loses 
her  temper:  she  merely  now  and  again  condescends  to  give 
certain  persons  what  she  calls  a  piece  of  her  mind." 

"  And  what  is  the  difference  between  doing  that  and  los- 
ing her  temper?  " 

"  The  whole  difference  in  the  world,  my  dear  Miss 
Vipart:  the  difference  between  an  involuntary  loss  and  a 
votive  offering:  between  the  payment  of  a  water-rate  and 
a  libation  to  the  gods." 

"  Between  having  one's  pocket  picked  and  giving  at  a 
collection,"  added  Isabel :  "  and  between  compulsory  taxa- 
tion and  the  revenues  of  the  S.P.C.K." 

[71] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

"  Precisely,"  agreed  Lord  Kesterton. 

"  And  what  other  qualities  entitle  Lord  Wrexham  to  be 
an  ideal  Prime  Minister?"  Fabia  went  on. 

"  He  invariably  says  the  obvious  thing :  and — whenever  it 
is  possible — does  nothing  at  all.  The  great  art  of  popular 
instruction  is  to  teach  people  what  they  already  know:  just 
as  the  great  secret  of  successful  leadership  is  to  learn  how 
to  stand  absolutely  still." 

"And  what  else?"  asked  Paul,  who  was  enjoying  this 
disquisition  upon  his  leader. 

"  He  is  very  prudent  and  he  is  very  Protestant:  and  pru- 
dence and  Protestantism  are  the  two  great  cornerstones  of 
English  national  life." 

"  And  very  good  cornerstones  too,"  added  Paul. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  remarked  Fabia,  "  that  an  ideal  Prime 
Minister  must  have  all  the  virtues  that  begin  with 
P.  He  must  be  prudent  and  patient  and  practical  and 
Protestant." 

Isabel  gave  a  deep  sigh.  "  I  don't  think  you'll  ever  be  an 
ideal  Prime  Minister,  Paul:  because  you're  not  very  patient, 
and  you're  not  at  all  prudent,  and  you  never  say  the  obvious 
thing  unless  it  is  the  thing  that  is  obviously  too  good  to  be 
true." 

Paul  endeavoured  to  clear  himself.  "  Well,  anyway  I'm 
Protestant  enough,"  he  said  in  self -justification. 

Isabel  sighed  again.  "  Yes,  you  are  charmingly  Protestant : 
but  I'm  not  sure  that  that  is  enough  in  itself,  though  of 
course  ft  is  a  great  deal."  Then  she  put  her  head  on  one 
side,  and  looked  at  her  husband  through  her  eye-lashes  as 
if  he  were  some  work  of  art  that  she  was  appraising.  "  I 
love  my  love  with  a  P.  because  he  is  Protestant :  I  hate  him 
because  he  is  progressive:  he  lives  in  Prince's  Gardens,  lives 

[7*] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

upon  platitudes,  his  name  is  Paul,  and  I'll  give  him  the 
premiership  for  a  keepsake." 

Paul  smiled,  but  he  winced  a  little  underneath  the  smile. 
Isabel  was  sometimes  so  terribly  accurate  in  hitting  the  nail 
precisely  in  the  middle  of  its  head.  "  My  wife  is  always 
reproving  me  for  being  unpractical  and  idealistic,"  he  said, 
turning  to  Lord  Kesterton. 

"  Is  she  indeed !  Then  you  will  do  well  to  listen  to 
her,  Seaton.  Men  who  are  married  never  lack  the  op- 
portunity of  hearing  the  truth  about  themselves:  and  if 
they  are  wise  men  they  will  sometimes  avail  themselves 
of  it." 

"  Hear,  hear,"  applauded  Isabel. 

"  But — with  all  due  deference  to  my  wife  and  the  other 
Members  of  His  Majesty's  Government — I  cannot  give  up 
my  belief  that  it  is  enthusiasm  that  really  makes  the  world 
go  round :  I  cannot  forswear  my  creed  that  it  is  in  what  you 
call  idealism  that  the  hope  for  the  future  of  the  race  and 
the  nation  lies.  Surely  it  is  by  appealing  to  the  highest  in 
human  nature  that  we  evoke  the  highest:  it  is  by  treating 
men  as  reasonable  beings  that  we  make  them  reasonable 
beings:  it  is  by  regarding  them  as  heroes  that  we  enable 
them  to  attain  to  heroism." 

Lord  Kesterton  nodded  his  head  two  or  three  times. 
"  Perhaps,"  was  all  he  said. 

Paul  went  on,  "  I  think  all  you  wise  and  prudent  people 
make  one  initial  mistake :  you  confuse  cause  and  effect.  You 
believe  that  men  must  be  trained  to  bear  responsibility  before 
they  can  be  trusted  with  responsibility:  that  they  must  be- 
come good  citizens  before  they  can  act  as  good  citizens:  in 
short,  that  they  must  never  be  allowed  to  wet  their  feet 
until  they  have  learned  to  swim." 

[73] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

''  It  would  save  a  good  many  lives  from  drowning  if  that 
rule  were  carried  out,"  murmured  Isabel  sotto  voce:  but  her 
husband  did  not  hear  her.  She  did  not  intend  that  he 
should. 

"  Now  I  maintain,"  he  continued,  his  usually  grave  face 
alight  with  enthusiasm,  "  that  you  are  putting  the  cart 
before  the  horse.  I  hold  that  it  is  only  by  being  entrusted 
with  responsibility  that  men  learn  how  to  use  responsibility: 
that  it  is  only  by  reading  that  a  man  learns  how  to  read: 
that  it  is  only  by  walking  that  a  child  learns  how  to  walk.  I 
do  not  believe  that  men  perform  heroic  deeds  because  they 
are  heroes:  I  believe  that  they  finally  become  heroes  because 
they  have  got  into  the  habit  of  performing  heroic  deeds. 
Our  actions  are  not  the  outcome  of  our  characters:  it  is  our 
characters  that  are  the  result  of  our  actions.  A  king  is  not 
a  king  because  he  knows  how  to  rule:  he  knows  how  to 
rule  because  he  is  a  king." 

"  Then  your  idea  is,"  said  Kesterton,  "  not  that  we  must 
withhold  power  from  any  section  of  the  people  until  we 
believe  they  are  fit  to  be  entrusted  with  power:  but  we  must 
entrust  them  with  it  in  order  to  make  them  fit  ?  " 

"  Exactly,"  replied  Paul.  "  And  I  further  believe  that 
the  more  power  the  people  have,  the  more  wisely  they  will 
use  it:  that  the  more  implicitly  we  trust  them,  the  more  fit 
they  will  show  themselves  to  be  implicitly  trusted." 

"  You  believe  in  human  nature  more  than  Isabel  does," 
said  Fabia. 

"  But  he  doesn't  love  it  anything  like  as  much,"  retorted  the 
maligned  hostess.  "  He  begins  believing  that  every  woman 
is  an  angel  and  every  man  a  hero:  and  then  when  the  angel 
begins  to  scold,  and  the  hero  flies  in  terror  to  his  Club  for 
refuge,  Paul  is  utterly  disgusted  and  washes  his  hands  of 

[74] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

the  pair  for  ever.  Now  I  know  that  at  heart  every  man  is 
a  coward  and  every  woman  a  shrew,  and  I  like  them  all  the 
better  for  it:  and  it  makes  them  seem  more  like  relations 
of  ours,  with  a  strong  family  likeness." 

"  It  is  rather  a  hard  saying  on  your  part  to  call  every 
man  a  coward,"  objected  Lord  Kesterton,  much  amused. 

"  No :  it  isn't :  on  the  contrary  it  proves  that  I  am  able 
fully  to  appreciate  them  when  they  do  perform  heroic  deeds. 
If  a  hero  behaves  like  a  hero,  there  is  nothing  in  it:  he  can't 
help  behaving  like  a  hero,  any  more  than  a  sewing-machine 
can  help  behaving  like  a  sewing-machine,  or  an  umbrella 
can  help  behaving  like  an  umbrella.  But  if  a  coward  sud- 
denly behave  like  a  hero,  it  is  something  very  splendid  and 
wonderful  indeed :  just  as  it  would  be  if  an  umbrella  in  an 
emergency  ran  up  a  seam,  or  if  a  sewing-machine  spread  shel- 
tering wings  to  ward  off  the  rain." 

'  The  soundness  of  your  reasoning  is  only  surpassed  by 
the  striking  nature  of  your  metaphors,"  murmured  Green- 
street. 

Isabel  continued,  "  Naturally  then  I  am  much  fonder  of 
my  shrews  and  my  cowards,  who  on  special  and  great  occa- 
sions behave  like  angels  and  heroes,  than  Paul  is  of  .his 
heroes  and  angels  who  in  everyday  life  behave  like  cowards 
and  shrews.  I  always  pity  and  love,  and  am  sometimes  sur- 
prised into  acute  admiration :  he  always  exhorts  and  demands, 
and  is  almost  invariably  disappointed  and  disgusted." 

"  Then,"  cried  Fabia,  "  you  believe  that  the  coward  who 
sometimes  behaves  like  a  hero  is  a  finer  man  than  the  hero 
who  often  behaves  like  a  coward  ?  " 

"  Of  course  he  is :  he  is  much  more  human,  while  his  act 
is  much  more  divine.  That  is  the  whole  point:  it  is  when 
people  suddenly  do  things  beyond  themselves  that  the  age 

[75] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

of  miracles  begins,  and  that  startling  effects  are  produced. 
Look  at  Balaam  and  his  ass,  and  how  awfully  upset  he  was 
when  she  did  what  he  believed  she  was  incapable  of  doing, 
and  reproved  him.  But  do  you  suppose  it  would  have  had 
any  effect  upon  him  if  instead  of  his  ass  it  had  been  his  wife 
who  began  scolding  and  objecting  and  begging  him  to  stay 
at  home?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  It  would  have  been  just  what 
he  was  used  to  and  what  he  expected,  and  would  have  had 
no  effect  upon  him  at  all." 

Paul  smiled  fondly  at  his  wife.  "  Even  if  you  succeed 
in  convincing  us  that  every  man  is  a  coward,  nothing  will 
induce  me  to  accept  the  dogma  that  every  woman  is  a 
shrew." 

"  Now  for  my  part,"  remarked  Greenstreet,  "  I  considered 
that  by  far  the  more  plausible  of  the  two  tenets  of  Mrs.  Sea- 
ton's  creed." 

Isabel  laughed  gaily.  "  Therefore  you  must  see  that  when 
a  woman  behaves  like  an  angel  it  is  all  the  more  credit  to 
her." 

"  Doubtless  it  would  be:  but  personally  I  have  never  come 
across  an  instance,"  replied  the  author. 

"  I  have,"  said  Paul  quietly :  "  and  such  a  striking  one 
that  it  has  apparently  led  me  into  the  not  uncommon  error 
of  generalising  from  a  single  instance !  " 

Isabel  blew  him  a  kiss.  "  Thank  you,"  she  said.  Then 
she  went  on,  "  All  of  which  is  very  nice  and  interesting,  but 
it  hasn't  answered  my  question  as  to  how  long  Lord  Wrex- 
ham  thinks  that  the  Liberals  will  remain  in  office." 

"  Until  the  next  Dissolution  anyway.  I  feel  sure  that 
if  we  were  beaten  upon  a  question  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
he  would  take  the  verdict  of  the  country  before  he  would 
resign." 

[76] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  And  do  you  think  we  shall  get  a  majority  at  the  next 
(.  J,neral  Election,  Lord  Kesterton?" 

"  That  I  cannot  tell,  Mrs.  Seaton :  it  lies  in  the  lap  of 
the  gods.  But  one  thing  I  can  say:  I  would  rather  be  beaten 
altogether  than  continue  in  office  with  as  small  a  majority 
as  we  have  at  present.  Too  small  a  majority  in  the  House 
of  Commons  is  a  source  of  weakness  to  any  Government. " 

"  I  believe  that  we  shall  have  a  tremendous  majority  at 
the  next  General  Election,"  cried  Paul:  "a  majority  that 
will  enable  us  to  do  great  things." 

"  You  do  not  think  your  husband  is  right,  Mrs.  Seaton?  " 
said  Lord  Kesterton,  as  Isabel  rose  from  the  table,  and  he 
moved  his  chair  for  her  to  pass. 

"  No,"  she  replied  slowly,  as  she  looked  with  half-envious 
admiration  at  the  enthusiasm  shining  in  Paul's  eyes:  "  I 
often  don't  think  he  is  right :  but  I  still  oftener  wish  that  I 
could  be  as  wrong  as  he  is!  " 


[77] 


CHAPTER    VII 

GABRIEL    CARR 

IN  a  new  and  hideous  Vicarage  built  in  a  new  and  hideous 
suburb  of  London  dwelt  the  Reverend  Gabriel  Carr.  It 
was  not  a  slum:  if  it  had  been,  he  could  have  borne  it  better: 
it  was  merely  a  highly  respectable  and  unbeautiful  spot 
inhabited  by  a  highly  respectable  and  unbeautiful  population. 
For  several  years  he  had  worked  in  the  East  End,  and  had 
fought  face  to  face  with  Apollyon  in  that  Valley  of  the 
Shadow.  A  hard  fight,  it  is  true — a  struggle  to  the  very 
death:  but  a  battle  not  without  a  certain  dramatic  force  and 
reality  which  inspired  the  fighter  with  courage  and  strength. 
Then  the  Bishop  appointed  Carr  to  the  forming  of  a  brand- 
new  parish  in  the  centre  of  a  brand-new  suburb — one  of 
those  staring,  yellow-brick  suburbs  which  are  increasingly 
wont  to  disfigure  the  face  of  the  earth  in  the  immediate 
neighbourhood  of  large  cities.  Here  Gabriel  worked  as  hard 
as  he  had  ever  worked  in  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow,  and  was 
as  ready  to  fight:  but  he  was  forced  to  admit  to  his  own 
soul  that  the  work  was  less  interesting,  the  battle  less  excit- 
ing. With  a  criminal  class  that  publicly  blasphemed  and 
privately  defied  the  Deity,  he  knew  how  to  deal :  but  not 
with  a  lower  middle-class  that  outwardly  patronised  and 
inwardly  ignored  Him.  Carr's  new  parishioners  seemed  far 
too  smug  and  self-satisfied  to  need  salvation  at  all:  and  far 
too  respectable  and  independent  to  accept  it  as  a  free  gift, 


THE   SUBJECTION   OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

if  at  all.  He  felt  that  they  would  resent  receiving  even  the 
grace  of  God  as  a  charity,  but  would  expect  it  to  be  paid 
for  out  of  the  rates :  and,  that  being  so,  they  had  a  right  to  it, 
without  the  intervention  of  any  priest  or  prophet  whatso- 
ever. 

Nevertheless — so  great  was  Carr's  power  of  success  and 
so  strong  his  personality — he  succeeded  in  doing  a  good  work 
even  in  that  unpromising  locality.  When  first  he  was  ap- 
pointed vicar  of  S.  Etheldreda's,  he  folded  his  flock  in  one  of 
those  galvanised  iron  sanctuaries  which  are  anything  but 
chapels-of-ease  in  nature  whatever  they  may  be  in  name : 
and  there  he  and  his  people  for  several  years  suffered  tor- 
tures from  the  frost  of  winter  and  the  heat  of  summer  by 
turns.  But,  with  his  usual  unfailing  energy,  he  gradually 
collected  sufficient  money  to  build  a  permanent  church,  and 
sufficient  worshippers  to  fill  it.  He  believed  that  Ritualism 
and  Revivalism  are  the  only  two  forms  of  religion  which 
have  power  to  attract  the  masses:  that  it  is  through  the 
seeing  eye  and  the  hearing  ear  that  the  hearts  of  the  unedu- 
cated are  reached:  so  that,  while  to  the  wise  and  learned 
the  visible  sign  is  but  the  expression  of  the  invisible  reality, 
to  the  unlearned  and  ignorant  the  invisible  reality  is  the  ex- 
planation of  the  visible  sign.  Therefore  Carr  availed  himself 
of  both  these  handmaids  of  religion  in  the  services  of  S. 
Etheldreda's. 

But  he  also  believed  that  though  Revivalism  may  plant 
and  Ritualism  may  water,  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  either 
of  these  to  give  the  increase.  Results  he  trusted  to  higher 
hands:  and — like  all  men  who  do  their  best,  and  then  leave 
the  issue  entirely  in  those  hands — he  was  not  disappointed. 
He  succeeded  at  last  at  S.  Etheldreda's  as  he  had  succeeded 
in  the  slums ;  for  even  crass  respectability  is  not  permanently 

[79] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

proof  against  the  power  of  God.  Thus  Gabriel  served  the 
Lord  in  his  day  and  generation ;  and — to  use  the  old  Bible 
phrase — God  was  with  him. 

"  I  am  going  to  have  tea  with  Gabriel  Carr  this  after- 
noon," said  Isabel  to  her  guest  the  day  after  the  little 
dinner-party  in  Prince's  Gardens :  "  will  you  come  with 
me?" 

"  Certainly.  It  will  interest  me  to  see  Mr.  Carr  in  his 
own  home  and  in  the  midst  of  his  usual  surroundings:  it 
will  help  me  to  understand  the  manner  of  man  that  he  is. 
I  do  not  think  we  ever  really  know  much  about  other 
people  until  we  have  seen  them  in  their  accustomed  environ- 
ment." 

Mrs.  Seaton  shook  her  head.  "  It  won't  help  you  much 
in  understanding  Gabriel:  as  his  surroundings  are  not  an 
atom  like  himself." 

"  I  didn't  say  they  were:  or  even  think  it." 

"  And  if  you  expect  him  to  resemble  those  insects  who 
look  like  twigs  because  they  live  among  twigs,  or  those  ani- 
mals who  have  white  coats  from  dwelling  in  Arctic  regions, 
you  will  be  disappointed.  He  lives  in  a  square  house  built 
of  dirty  yellow  bricks — one  of  those  dreary,  unornamented 
houses,  that  look  as  if  they  had  no  eyebrows  or  eyelashes, 
and  haven't  the  time  to  wash  their  faces;  and  yet  his  own 
character  is  not  built  of  yellow  bricks  at  all,  but  has  as  many 
foundations  as  the  New  Jerusalem,  and  is  of  as  rare  and 
costly  materials." 

"  Just  so.  Unlikeness  may  be  as  certain  a  result  as  like- 
ness. That  is  my  whole  point." 

"  Oh!  my  dear,  you  are  too  subtle  for  me." 

"  Not  at  all.  The  whiteness  of  a  diamond  is  as  much 
the  result  of  its  environment  as  that  of  a  polar  bear  !; 

[80] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

the  result  of  his.  Sometimes  like  produces  like — sometimes 
like  produces  unlike:  but  both  productions  are  equally 
results." 

"  I  suppose,"  suggested  Isabel,  "  that  the  difference  de- 
pends upon  the  strength  of  the  environment:  two  blacks 
must  be  very  black  indeed  before  they  can  make  a  white." 

"  No:  it  depends  upon  the  nature  of  the  thing  itself." 

Fabia  answered  rather  shortly.  Isabel's  habit  of  speaking 
lightly  and  half-mockingly  about  everything  always  irritated 
her.  She  took  life  and  herself  seriously,  and  was  as  yet  too 
young  to  have  learnt  how  nearly  akin  are  tears  and  laughter. 
She  did  not  know  that  smiles  are  oftener  a  surer  symptom 
than  tears  of  a  tender  and  understanding  heart. 

But  Isabel  pursued  her  way  unabashed.  "  I  see :  no 
amount  of  fervent  heat  would  turn  a  piece  of  carbon  into  a 
polar  bear:  while  the  most  intense  and  microbe-destroying 
frost  wouldn't  change  a  polar  bear  into  a  diamond  tiara:  the 
raw  material  differing  in  the  two  cases.  It's  like  the  differ- 
ence between  exports  and  imports :  one  is  one  and  the  other  is 
the  other,  and  it  is  a  mortal  sin  against  political  economy  to 
confound  the  two:  but  what  is  really  the  difference  between 
them  I've  never  been  able  to  understand." 

Fabia's  lip  curled  slightly.  Ignorance  of  any  kind  was 
contemptible  to  her.  "  I  should  have  thought  that  you,  the 
wife  of  a  distinguished  politician,  would  have  known  a  thing 
like  that.  I  wonder  your  husband  hasn't  explained  it  to 
you." 

"  He  has  often:  that's  why  I  don't  understand  it.  You 
will  find,  my  dear  Fabia,  when  you  have  lived  as  long  as  I 
have,  that  all  life's  mysteries  are  comprehensible,  but  not 
its  explanations.  I  have  great  sympathy  with  the  old  woman 
who  said  she  '  understood  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  and  she 

[81] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

hoped  soon,  with  the  help  of  the  Lord,  to  be  able  to  under- 
stand the  key.'  I  always  understand  everything  until  it  is 
explained  to  me:  and  then  I  never  understand  it  again  as 
long  as  I  live." 

Fabia  did  not  speak,  but  silently  marvelled.  How  could 
any  woman  thus  positively  glory  in  apparent  ignorance  and 
stupidity — and  a  woman,  too,  so  naturally  sharp  and  clever 
as  Isabel  ?  If  she  had  found  herself  on  any  point  wanting  in 
knowledge  or  intelligence,  she  would  never  have  given  herself 
away  by  openly  admitting  it:  but  Isabel  took  the  world  at 
large  into  her  confidence  with  regard  to  her  own  deficiencies. 
But  this  again — though  Fabia  did  not  know  it — was  merely 
a  consequence  of  the  red  cord. 

"  For  instance,"  Isabel  rattled  on,  "  I  used  to  understand 
perfectly  the  difference  between  exports  and  imports.  I  said 
to  myself,  '  The  one  goes  out  and  the  other  comes  in  ':  and 
that  seemed  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  your  face — which,  by 
the  way,  on  yours  is  a  singularly  pretty  one.  But  then 
Paul  must  take  it  into  his  head  to  expound  to  me  that  what 
went  in  at  one  ear,  so  to  speak,  came  out  at  the  other,  and 
was  changed  from  an  import  to  an  export  in  the  process. 
And  from  that  moment  I  was  lost.  I  never  again  under- 
stood the  difference  between  an  export  and  an  import,  and 
I  never  shall." 

Fabia  wondered  whether  Isabel  knew  she  was  a  fool  when 
she  talked  like  this.  She  did  not  grasp  that  it  was  because 
Isabel  knew  she  was  no  fool — and  knew  that  her  world 
knew  it  also — that  she  amused  herself — and  it — by  some- 
times behaving  as  one. 

"  In  the  same  way,"  the  latter  continued,  "  I  used  to 
understand  perfectly  whether  the  twentieth  century  was  to 
begin  with  the  year  nineteen-hundred  or  the  year  nineteen- 

[82] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

hundred-and-one,  until  the  day  Paul  explained  it  to  me  by 
taking  a  hundred  apples  out  of  one  basket  and  putting  them 
into  another:  and  from  that  day  to  this  I've  never  known 
when  the  twentieth  century  would  begin — or  whether  it 
would  ever  begin  at  all." 

"  But  we  were  talking  about  Mr.  Carr,"  suggested  Fabia. 

"So  we  were.  How  clever  of  you  to  remember!  To 
know  what  one  is  talking  about  is  one  of  the  highest  forms 
of  intelligence.  Well,  will  you  come  and  have  tea  with  him 
this  afternoon,  or  will  you  not?  It  is  purely  optional:  not 
compulsory,  as  education  is  and  as  adult  vaccination  ought 
to  be." 

"  I  have  already  told  you  that  I  will.  I  shall  be  im- 
mensely interested  to  see  Mr.  Carr  in  that  house  of  his  own, 
which  you  have  assured  me  is  so  unfit  a  casket  for  the  jewel 
that  it  contains." 

"  Don't  be  sarcastic,  my  dear.  Men  hate  a  satirical 
woman  like  poison:  and  a  sharp  tongue  is  to  them  as  a  ser- 
pent's tooth." 

Fabia  did  not  answer,  but  she  raged  inwardly.  She  al- 
ways resented  Isabel's  easy  assumption  of  authority  and  supe- 
rior knowledge;  and  when,  as  in  the  present  case,  Fabia 
knew  her  hostess  was  in  the  right,  she  hated  it  still  more. 
And  there  was  no  doubt  that  Isabel  frequently  was  in  the 
right.  A  woman  who  has  lived  for  nearly  forty  years  in 
the  heart  of  the  world,  and  has  kept  her  eyes  open  and 
unblinded  by  temper  or  prejudice,  has  generally  seen  a  good 
deal. 

After  lunch  the  two  ladies  set  out  for  S.  Etheldreda's 
Vicarage.  They  soon  left  what  Isabel  called  the  habitable 
parts  of  the  earth — that  is  to  say  those  portions  of  London 
occupied  by  its  more  fashionable  denizens — behind  them, 

[83] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

and  drove  through  long  miles  of  mean  streets  until  they 
reached  the  dreary  suburb  where  Gabriel  Carr  had  his  abode. 
And  specially  dreary  it  appeared  on  this  April  afternoon 
when  the  rest  of  the  world  was  alive  with  the  message  of 
spring.  At  last  they  found  their  way  to  the  yellow  brick 
Vicarage,  and  were  duly  welcomed  by  its  master. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  the  Vicar  of  S.  Etheldreda's  was 
a  singularly  handsome  man:  his  beauty,  which  was  the  be- 
quest of  an  Italian  grandmother,  being  of  that  first-class 
order  which  impresses  the  beholders  more  with  a  sense  of 
how  fair  is  the  soul  that  inhabits  such  a  tenement  than  with 
a  consciousness  of  the  beauty  of  the  body  which  that  soul 
informs.  The  only  flaw  in  the  otherwise  almost  statuesque 
perfection  of  his  appearance  was  to  be  found  in  his  hands, 
which  were  more  like  those  of  an  artisan  than  of  a  gentleman. 
But  these  also  in  their  own  way  bore  testimony  to  the  beauty 
of  his  soul;  for  he  had  spoiled  them  by  the  manual  labour 
which  he  had  done  as  a  comrade  and  an  example  to  the 
youths  in  his  parish.  He  had  worked  willingly  with  his 
hands  in  order  to  teach  them  and  help  them  to  work  will- 
ingly with  theirs:  he  had  opened  a  carpenter's  shop  and  had 
instructed  them  himself  on  certain  evenings  every  week  in 
all  simple  and  useful  forms  of  carpentry.  For  the  rest,  he 
was  dark  and  thin,  of  a  light  and  graceful  build,  and  with 
a  face  expressive  of  intelligence  and  spirituality.  So  ascetic 
was  his  type  and  so  refined  his  style  of  countenance  that  he 
looked  more  like  a  mediaeval  monk  than  a  modern  parish- 
priest. 

He  received  his  visitors  with  many  expressions  of  delight, 
and  conducted  them  into  his  bare  and  bachelor  drawing- 
room — one  of  those  typical  bachelor  drawing-rooms  which 
are,  so  to  speak,  full  of  the  absence  of  a  woman.  He  might 

[84] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

have  flowers  upon  his  altar,  but  he  had  not  one  upon  his 
mantelpiece:  there  were  none  of  those  pretty  knick-knacks 
about,  whereby  women  create  a  home  atmosphere,  and  at 
the  same  time  harbour  dast:  but  everything  looked  as  cold 
and  clean  and  unlived-in  as  a  bedroom  that  is  prepared  for 
the  nursing  of  a  fever-patient.  The  fire  had  evidently  been 
lighted  just  long  enough  to  awaken  into  life  all  the  damp 
dormant  in  the  room :  and  it  crackled  to  itself  in  that  spiteful 
way  which  fires  have  when  they  think  they  ought  not  to  have 
been  lighted  at  all.  Gabriel  had  only  three  photographs 
in  his  room — namely  the  interior  of  his  church,  and  the 
exterior  of  his  mother  and  his  Bishop:  and  even  these  had 
nothing  in  the  shape  of  a  frame  to  soften  the  severity  and 
squareness  of  their  cardboard  cabinet  outlines.  An  unfur- 
nished tea-tray  was  already  upon  the  table:  but  as  there 
seemed  little  hope  of  its  being  occupied  for  some  considerable 
time,  Gabriel  suggested  that  they  should  go  and  inspect  the 
church  to  fill  up  the  interval  until  such  good  time  as  the 
kitchen  kettle  should  see  fit  to  boil. 

So  into  S. •  Etheldreda's  they  went:  and  were  struck — as 
were  all  who  entered  that  church — with  the  difference  be- 
tween its  plain  and  unimposing  outside  and  its  rich  and 
ornate  interior.  Outwardly  it  was  an  ugly  and  unassuming 
structure;  but  inwardly  it  was  a  perfect  instance  of  how 
beautiful  Divine  Service  may  be  when  conducted  according 
to  the  rites  of  that  branch  of  the  Holy  Catholic  Church 
established  in  this  kingdom.  Gabriel  was  strictly  Anglican: 
he  allowed  nothing  in  his  church  that  was  not  permitted — 
nay  enjoined — by  the  Ornaments  Rubric.  He  would  have 
scorned  to  borrow  from  Rome  any  outward  form  which 
signified  no  corresponding  doctrine  in  the  section  of  the 
Church  to  which  he  owed  his  allegiance :  he  would  not  even 

[85] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

permit  the  children  in  his  Sunday-schools  to  observe  any 
act  of  ritual  until  they  had  first  been  taught  the  fundamental 
truth  which  that  act  symbolised.  He  knew  how  helpful 
it  oftentimes  is  to  us,  who  still  see  through  a  glass  darkly, 
to  be  reminded  by  outward  symbolisms  of  the  great  truths 
upon  our  acceptance  of  which  depends  the  salvation  of  our 
souls:  and  it  always  will  be  helpful  to  some  of  us,  until  the 
day  dawns  when  we  see  face  to  face,  and  know  even  as  we 
are  known.  But  he  knew  also  that  while  the  ceremony 
which  serves  to  recall  and  expound  a  truth  may  be  a  help, 
the  meaningless  form,  which  has  no  root  in  reality,  must 
always  be  a  hindrance.  Therefore  Gabriel  was  no  mere 
Ritualist  for  Ritualism's  sake;  but  he  prided  himself  upon 
showing  what  the  services  of  the  Church  of  England  really 
are  when  rightly  and  rigidly  performed.  Whatever  of 
symbol  and  form  and  ornament  this  branch  of  the  Catholic 
Church  allows,  of  that  he  availed  himself  to  the  full :  reject- 
ing firmly,  however,  all  mediaeval  and  modern  accretions 
and  superstitions,  and  reverting  as  far  as  possible  to  the 
usages  of  the  early  and  undivided  Church. 

The  beauty  of  everything  within  the  walls  of  S.  Ethel- 
dreda's  appealed  very  strongly  to  Isabel's  artistic  tempera- 
ment. Hers  was  one  of  the  natures  which  instinctively 
recognise  the  indissoluble  connexion  between  the  Beautiful 
and  the  True,  and  which  understand  that  Beauty  can  never 
be  a  rival  of  Truth,  but  is  rather  an  exponent  of  it.  Upon 
Fabia,  however,  the  effect  was  altogether  different.  Hers 
was  a  more  sensuous  nature  than  Isabel's  and  she  therefore 
rated  the  intrinsic  excellencies  of  anything  in  an  inverse 
proportion  to  its  appeal  to  her  senses.  She  believed  that 
in  this  she  was  more  purely  intellectual  than  her  friend :  but 
here  she  was  mistaken.  It  is  no  proof  of  intense  spirituality 

[86] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

when  men  and  women  regard  as  snares  of  the  devil  all  the 
beauties  of  nature  and  of  art:  but  rather  the  reverse.  He 
may  be  a  good  man  in  whom  the  flesh  lusteth  against  the 
spirit  and  the  spirit  against  the  flesh :  but  he  is  a  still  better 
man  in  whom  the  flesh  is  so  subservient  to  the  spirit  that  the 
one  expresses  and  typifies  the  other,  turning  into  a  very 
sacrament  every  incident  in  daily  life,  so  that  God  may  be 
all  in  all. 

When  Gabriel  and  his  guests  returned  to  the  Vicarage 
the  tea  was  ready — that  strong,  rampant  tea,  stiffened  with 
self-supporting  London  cream — which  many  men  and  few 
women  enjoy.  And  the  Vicar  poured  it  out  himself. 

"  I  see  you  have  chairs  in  your  church  instead  of  pews, 
Mr.  Carr,"  remarked  Fabia :  "  and  I  want  to  know  why 
chairs  are  always  considered  more  virtuous  than  pews." 

"  They  aren't,"  he  replied,  "  except  in  so  far  as  economy 
is  a  virtue.  They  are  much  cheaper:  that  is  my  sole  reason 
for  having  them." 

"  They  are  nothing  like  as  comfortable  as  pews,"  said 
Isabel :  "  because  there's  nowhere  to  put  your  legs — let 
alone  your  umbrella :  and  my  umbrella  ought  to  have  a  prize 
for  regular  attendance  at  public  worship." 

"  And  do  you  feel  you  couldn't  bring  it  to  S.  Etheldreda's, 
Mrs.  Seaton  ?  " 

"  There  would  be  nowhere  for  it  to  sit  on  if  I  did.  That's 
why  I  hate  chairs:  they  are  so  cramped.  It  may  be  the 
right  thing  to  be  '  content  to  fill  a  little  space  '  as  the  hymn- 
writer  was:  but  I  am  not  content  to  fill  a  little  space,  because 
I  fill  it  so  completely  that  there  are  no  outlying  districts 
where  I  can  plant  my  gloves  and  my  boa  and  my  other 
et  ceteras:  and  that  is  so  very  uncomfortable  both  for  me 
and  for  them." 

[87] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

"  Why  don't  you  annex  another  chair  ? "  suggested 
Fabia. 

"  Oh !  that  would  look  so  horribly  greedy  and  selfish !  I 
don't  mind  annexing  a  little  bit  of  extra  pew :  in  fact,  I  feel 
that  belongs  to  me  by  right,  on  the  same  principle  as  a  ditch 
always  belongs  to  the  owner  of  the  other  side  of  the  hedge — 
a  sort  of  perquisite.  But  coolly  to  annex  a  whole  empty 
chair,  on  which  an  immortal  soul  might  and  ought  to 
be  sitting — I  couldn't  do  such  a  thing  at  any  price! 
I've  always  been  led  to  believe  that  it  was  things  like 
that — with  a  difference — which  brought  about  the  French 
Revolution." 

"Then,  Mr.  Carr,  don't  you  consider  pews  sinful?" 
inquired  Fabia. 

"  Not  at  all :  merely  expensive.  Sin  is  always  expensive, 
but  expense  is  not  necessarily  sinful :  and  pews  are  harmless, 
if  costly  pleasures." 

"  And  you  don't  object  to  people  paying  rents  for  them, 
as  so  many  churchmen  do?  " 

"Oh!  but  I  do  object,  Miss  Vipart — object  with  all  my 
heart.  I  consider  it  contrary  to  all  the  principles  of  Chris- 
tianity for  there  to  be  any  difference  in  the  House  of  God. 
There  the  rich  and  the  poor  meet  together  to  worship  the 
Maker  of  them  all:  and  they  meet  on  equal  footing  of  de- 
pendence upon  Him.  Have  pews  by  all  means  if  you  can 
afford  them:  but  let  the  pews  be  free.'* 

"  You've  trodden  upon  one  of  Mr.  Carr's  most  carefully 
cultivated  corns,"  said  Isabel  with  a  laugh. 

"  That  is  so,"  admitted  Gabriel.  "  People — especially 
English  people — love  to  have  something  which  sets  them, 
as  they  think,  apart  from  their  fellows — something  which 
proves  that  they  are  not  as  other  men,  or  even  as  this  publi- 

[88] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

can.  The)  are  never  so  happy  as  when  they  stick  up  a  red 
cord  somewhere,  and  go  themselves  on  one  side  of  it  leaving 
everybody  else  on  the  other.  I  feel  sure  that  most  British 
subjects — when  they  indulge  in  dreams  of  Heaven — substi- 
tute a  red  cord  for  those  pearly  gates  which  are  never  shut. 
But  the  cord  is  fastened  across  pretty  often,  and  is  only  let 
down  in  favour  of  themselves  and  of  such  of  their  friends 
as  entirely  agree  with  them." 

Fabia  wras  roused  from  her  usual  apathy:  at  last  she  had 
found  someone  who  understood.  "  I  know  what  you  mean 
by  your  red  cord,"  she  said  slowly:  "  it  is  very  common — 
very  cruel — and  very  English." 

"Cruel?  I  should  just  think  it  is  cruel,"  exclaimed  the 
Vicar,  "  it  is  positively  merciless !  " 

"  I  think  you  exaggerate  it  altogether,"  said  Isabel :  "  to 
me  it  is  more  amusing  than  anything  else.  After  all,  if  a 
little  bit  of  red  cord  at  one-and-elevenpence-half penny  a 
yard  constitutes  human  happiness,  why  on  earth  shouldn't 
people  have  as  much  of  it  as  they  want — enough  to  hang 
themselves  in  fact?" 

"  For  the  good  reason  that  they  don't  hang  themselves : 
they  hang  other  people,  Mrs.  Seaton,  to  whom  the  operation 
is  less  necessary  and  more  painful." 

"Well,  for  my  part  I  like  it,"  replied  Isabel  coolly:  "  it 
may  be  wicked,  but  I  do.  I  love  to  see  a  red  cord  fall  down 
before  me,  like  the  walls  of  Jericho,  and  rise  up  again  the 
moment  I  have  passed  through.  Everybody  feels  like  that: 
it's  human  nature.  And  if  you  try  to  make  out  that  the 
Israelites  didn't  enjoy  it  when  seas  and  rivers  made  way  for 
them  and  not  for  the  Canaanites  and  Egyptians,  I  simply 
sha'n't  believe  you:  and  the  Israelites  were  considered  very 
good  people  in  their  way." 


THE    SUBJECTION 

Gabriel  smiled.  "  Yes,  in  their  way :  but  it  wasn't  the 
Christian  way,  you  see:  and  ours  is.  That  makes  all  the 
difference." 

Isabel  sighed.  "  I  forgot  that.  Yes :  I  suppose  one  could 
hardly  call  them  Christians." 

"  Hardly,  Mrs.  Seaton."  Gabriel  was  still  smiling.  He 
knew  Isabel:  knew  that  she  was  far  better  than  she  made 
herself  out  to  be — far  better  than  she  herself  had  any  idea 
of.  He  knew  that  her  half-childish  vanity  delighted  in  pass- 
ing through  social  barriers:  but  he  also  knew  that  more  than 
half  her  delight  consisted  in  being  able  to  take  other  people 
with  her.  She  might  have  enjoyed  crossing  the  Red  Sea 
on  dry  land ;  but  she  would  never  have  consented  to  leave 
Pharaoh's  host  behind. 

She  sighed  again.  "  Oh,  dear!  Do  you  remember  the 
baby  in  Alice  in  Wonderland  that  made  a  very  ugly  baby 
but  a  very  handsome  pig?  Well,  I  seem  to  make  a  very 
ugly  Christian  but  a  very  handsome  Jewess:  I  am  referring 
of  course  to  moral  beauty.  I  am  sorry  to  be  so  wicked,  but 
I  do  like  red  cords,  and  it's  no  use  pretending  that  I  don't. 
I  believe  the  reason  why  I  always  enjoy  the  preaching  at  S. 
Margaret's,  Westminster,  is  because  there  is  a  red  cord  there, 
licensed  to  hold  only  Members  of  Parliament  and  their 
wives." 

"  I'll  be  bound  you  always  want  to  take  somebody  else  in 
with  you,"  said  Carr. 

"  Yes,  I  do :  partly  from  good  nature  and  partly  because 
it  is  against  the  rules.  Members  of  Parliament  are  only 
allowed  one  wife  even  on  Sundays,  poor  things!  And  it 
does  seem  such  short  commons,  especially  when  there  is  a 
popular  preacher  turned  on !  " 

[90] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  A  red  cord  is  just  the  sort  of  thing  you  would  like/* 
said  Fabia  with  suppressed  scorn :  "  I  should  have  expected 
it  of  you." 

"  Then  I  am  glad  you  are  not  disappointed,"  retorted 
Isabel :  "  I  rarely  disappoint  my  friends." 

Although  Gabriel  knew  precisely  how  much  Isabel's  lik- 
ing of  this  red  cord  amounted  to,  he  wished  she  had  not 
openly  praised  it  in  Fabia's  presence,  as  he  felt  sure  that  the 
girl  would  misunderstand  her:  and  he  was  right:  parish- 
priests  learn  a  great  deal  about  human  nature  in  the  course 
of  their  ministrations.  It  is  a  rule — and  sometimes  a  very 
unfortunate  rule — that  we  are  apt,  in  our  intercourse  with 
others,  to  take  whatever  role  they  may  in  their  own  minds 
have  allotted  to  us,  even  if  that  role  is  unlike,  even  opposed 
to,  our  natural  one.  Instead  of  endeavouring  to  prove  that 
certain  persons  are  wrong — when  they  are  so — in  thinking 
us  dull  or  sarcastic  or  flippant,  we  become,  when  in  the 
company  of  these  persons,  the  very  things  which  they  errone- 
ously suppose  us  to  be.  Sometimes  unconsciously — some- 
times even  against  our  will — we  are  for  the  time  being  not 
our  real  selves  at  all,  but  the  creatures  of  our  companions' 
imaginations.  This  may  be  partly  due  to  a  sort  of  false 
pride  that  will  not  allow  us  to  justify  ourselves  when  we 
have  been  so  misjudged :  but  probably  more  to  the  effect  of 
mind  upon  mind.  By  expecting  us  to  have  certain  qualities, 
these  people  temporarily  endow  us  with  those  qualities:  and 
we  actually  are  dull  or  sarcastic  or  flippant  when  in  their 
society.  Therefore  it  behoves  us  all  to  think  the  best  and 
to  expect  the  highest  of  each  other,  until  the  charity  which 
believeth  all  things  and  hopeth  all  things  shall  at  last  see 
faith  and  hope  lost  in  full  fruition. 

[90 


THE    SUBJECTION 

"  Yes,  you  have  never  felt  the  lash  of  the  red  cord,  Mrs. 
Seaton,"  said  Carr  gently:  "you  have  always  been  on  the 
right  side  of  it." 

Isabel  laughed  carelessly.  The  people  who  take  things 
for  granted  never  know  quite  how  hard  life  is  to  the  people 
who  do  not.  "  Well,  at  any  rate  you  can't  have  much  of  the 
questionable  material  in  a  place  like  this.  That's  one  com- 
fort for  you." 

"  Can't  I  though  ?  That's  all  you  know  about  it !  Why, 
it  is  one  of  my  greatest  stumbling-blocks,  and  is  always 
getting  in  the  way  and  tripping  up  my  people  in  their  road 
to  Heaven.  Don't  imagine  for  a  moment  that  the  sin  of 
exclusiveness  is  confined  to  the  upper  classes.  In  fact  no 
sin  is.  The  devil  may  have  his  faults,  but  he  is  no  snob,  I 
am  sorry  to  say.  I  only  wish  he  were !  It  would  make  work 
in  the  unfashionable  parishes  far  easier  than  it  is  for  the 
clergy." 

"  But  I  should  have  thought  that  the  people  here  were 
all  on  the  same  dead  level,  like  their  houses,"  said  Isabel. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  They  appear  so  to  us,  I  admit:  but 
doubtless  we  appear  so  to  the  angels.  It  is  merely  a  question 
of  perspective.  When  I  first  came  here,  in  the  fulness  and 
innocence  of  my  heart  I  invited  a  few  of  the  leading  parish- 
ioners to  tea :  I  thought  it  would  bring  them  closer  together : 
and  so  it  did — too  close.  I  discovered  that  there  were  deep 
and  impassable  social  gulfs  yawning  between  apparently  co- 
equal retail  tradesmen.  They  bitterly  complained  that  not 
only  was  it  distasteful  to  sit  at  meat  with  social  inferiors, 
but  that — after  thus  sitting  together — they  could  hardly 
'  give  each  other  the  pass-by '  in  the  street,  but  were  com- 
pelled to  '  move '  to  one  another  thenceforward.  And  to 
'  move '  to  anyone  evidently  entails  serious  social  responsi- 

[92] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

bilities  which  must  not  wantonly  or  inadvisedly  be  taken 
in  hand." 

"  Gabriel,  ask  Miss  Vipart  to  sing  to  us,"  said  Isabel, 
rising  from  her  chair  and  opening  the  piano — Gabriel's  one 
and  only  luxury:  "  I'm  sure  she  will,  if  you  ask  her  prettily." 
It  was  one  of  Mrs.  Seaton's  good  points  that  she  never  lost 
an  opportunity  of  showing  off  another  woman  to  the  best 
advantage.  She  did  not  know  what  jealousy  or  envy  meant. 

But  Fabia  resented  even  this,  regarding  it  as  a  form  of 
patronage,  and  would  probably  have  refused,  had  not  Ga- 
briel turned  to  her  at  that  moment,  with  a  beseeching 
expression  in  his  eyes,  adding  his  entreaties  to  Isabel's.  Per- 
sonal attraction  had  a  great  effect  upon  Fabia:  it  was  only 
beauty  in  the  abstract  that  failed  to  command  her  homage. 
She  would  not  be  as  conscious  as  was  Isabel  of  the  beauty 
of  a  sermon;  but  she  would  be  far  more  conscious  of  the 
beauty  of  the  preacher.  The  one  woman  admired  Gabriel 
because  he  was  good ;  the  other,  because  he  was  good-looking. 
Therefore,  Carr  being  a  handsome  man,  Fabia  did  as  he 
asked  her;  just  as  she  would  probably  have  obeyed  Isabel, 
had  Isabel  been  a  beautiful  woman.  It  is  an  accepted  theory 
that  a  woman's  personal  beauty  is  the  surest  passport  to  the 
love  of  man:  but  it  is  a  far  surer  passport  to  the  love  of 
other  women. 

So  she  sat  down  at  the  piano  and  began  to  sing:  and  as 
she  sang,  the  reason  of  her  loneliness  and  isolation  became 
apparent:  for  she  owned  that  strange  gift  which  is  called 
genius,  the  possessors  whereof  are  always  set  apart  from 
their  fellow  men. 

As  she  sang,  Gabriel  felt  as  if  the  heavens  had  opened, 
and  earth  with  its  sordid  cares  and  petty  interests  had  drifted 
far  away.  On  the  wings  of  that  song,  his  soul  was  uplifted 

[93] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

until  he  hardly  knew  where  he  was  or  what  he  was  doing. 
He  was  only  conscious  of  an  indescribable  joy  and  peace 
which  exceeded  all  description. 

It  is  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  genius,  as  distinguished 
from  mere  talent,  that  genius  can  give  what  it  has  never 
possessed,  and  can  teach  what  it  has  never  learned.  The  man 
of  talent  can  only  distribute  of  his  abundance — can  only 
instruct  others  out  of  his  own  store  of  knowledge.  But 
the  man  with  a  spark  of  genius  pours  forth  riches  which 
have  never  entered  into  his  conception.  And  that  because 
genius  is  no  mere  ownership  of  intellectual  gifts,  but  a  chan- 
nel for  something  which  is  outside  mere  humanity  altogether 
— something  which  in  its  essence  partakes  of  the  Divine.  A 
man's  talents  are  to  a  certain  extent  an  integral  part  of  him- 
self: but  not  so  his  genius:  this  is  but  a  pipe — made  maybe 
of  the  commonest  earthenware — through  which  rushes  the 
sound  of  many  waters  when  deep  calleth  unto  deep. 

Of  course  in  the  well-known  cases  of  great  genius,  talent 
and  capacity  are  superadded.  A  man — to  do  excellent  and 
lasting  work — must  cultivate  his  Heaven-born  gift  with  all 
the  aids  of  human  knowledge  and  culture:  and,  further,  he 
must  fit  himself  to  be  a  vessel  unto  honour,  sanctified  and 
meet  for  the  use  of  that  Master  Who  has  entrusted  him  with 
the  rare  and  priceless  gift  of  genius.  For  even  a  pipe 
through  which  flows  the  dew  of  the  mountain  and  the  rain 
from  heaven,  may  so  foul  that  stream,  by  its  own  unclean- 
ness,  that  the  water  of  life  is  thereby  turned  into  the  water 
of  death,  and  the  rain  of  God  into  a  veritable  devil's  sewer. 

But  these  matters  were  as  yet  hid  from  Gabriel  Carr. 
Because  Fabia  sang  like  an  angel,  he  believed  that  she  was 
in  truth  an  angel — because  she  lifted  his  soul  to  Heaven,  he 
believed  that  she  herself  was  already  there — because  she 

[94] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

taught  him  by  the  beauty  of  her  voice  something  of  the 
goodness  of  God,  he  believed  that  she  had  already  tasted  of 
that  goodness,  and  had  proved  how  gracious  it  is.  There- 
fore as  soon  as  he  heard  her  voice  he  loved  her:  as  Charles 
Gaythorne  had  loved  her  as  soon  as  he  saw  her  face.  And 
each  man  had  yet  to  learn  to  his  cost  that  neither  voice  nor 
face  was  the  woman  herself,  nor  in  any  way  representative 
of  her. 


[95] 


CHAPTER    VIII 

VERNACRE     PARK 

LORD  WREXHAM  invited  a  small  party  of  his  special  friends 
to  spend  Whitsuntide  with  him  at  Vernacre  Park,  his  coun- 
try-seat, which  party  included  Lord  Kesterton,  Mr.  Reginald 
Greenstreet,  Captain  Gaythorne  and  his  mother,  the  Rever- 
end Gabriel  Carr,  and  the  Paul  Seatons  and  their  guest, 
Miss  Vipart. 

It  was  the  Saturday  afternoon,  and  they  were  having  tea 
in  the  stately  drawing-room — a  room,  for  all  its  magnificence 
as  empty  of  abiding  feminine  occupation  as  was  the  drawing- 
room  at  S.  Etheldreda's  Vicarage.  Mrs.  Seaton  would  have 
preferred  to  have  tea  out-of-doors,  but  she  was  too  wise  a 
woman  to  suggest  it;  having  learnt  that  it  is  not  in  human 
nature  patiently  to  endure  alien  interference  in  domestic 
arrangements.  It  may  be  very  heroic  to  go  forth  combating 
error  and  redressing  wrong,  in  true  knight-errantly  fashion : 
but  it  is  far  wiser  to  leave  the  error  uncombated  and  the 
wrong  unredressed,  if  they  happen  to  occur  in  other  people's 
houses. 

"  I  am  going  down  to  the  home  farm  after  tea  to  inspect 
some  model  cottages  that  have  been  erected  during  my 
absence,"  said  the  host:  "would  anybody  care  to  come 
with  me?" 

"  I  should  be  immensely  interested,  if  you'll  take  me," 
answered  Isabel  quickly,  before  anybody  else  had  time  to 
speak.  She  knew  that  he  wanted  her  to  go,  and  she  wanted 

[96] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

to  indulge  him.  It  was  only  since  her  marriage  that  she  had 
learnt  to  look  at  things  from  a  man's  point  of  view  as  well 
as  from  a  woman's,  and  had  consequently  realised  how  badly 
she  had  treated  Lord  Wrexham  in  the  old  days  when  she 
was  Isabel  Carnaby:  and  now,  womanlike,  she  tried  to  make 
up  to  him  in  the  things  that  did  not  matter  for  having  failed 
him  in  things  that  did;  because  she  had  once  denied  him 
bread,  she  now  fairly  pelted  him  with  precious  stones.  To 
tell  the  truth,  there  was  nothing  that  bored  her  more  than 
farm  buildings  and  model  cottages:  but  she  was  willing — 
nay  ready — to  endure  any  amount  of  boredom  if  she  could 
thereby  relieve  Wrexham 's  loneliness  and  her  own  con- 
science: about  the  latter  part  of  which  attempt  there  was  not, 
it  must  be  admitted,  much  difficulty.  People  to  whom  the 
world  is  ready  to  forgive  much,  rarely  find  it  hard  to  forgive 
themselves  still  more. 

Lord  Wrexham's  face  lighted  up  with  pleasure.  "  I  shall 
be  delighted  to  take  you,  Mrs.  Seaton." 

"  I  want  to  come  too,"  said  Fabia. 

Isabel  looked  annoyed.  She  was  fully  aware  of  the  fact 
that  the  lovely  Fabia  had  designs  upon  the  Prime  Minister 
himself,  and  she  resented  it  exceedingly.  We  none  of  us 
really  like  the  people  who  want  to  marry  our  former  lovers ; 
just  as  we  never  really  like  the  people  who  live  in  the  houses 
that  were  once  our  homes.  Isabel  was  beginning  to  feel  much 
as  Frankenstein  felt  when  his  monster  grew  restive. 

But  Charlie  Gaythorne  unconsciously  came  to  her  rescue. 

"Oh!  I  say,  Miss  Vipart:  that's  a  bit  too  bad.  You 
promised  to  come  for  a  stroll  with  me  after  tea,  don't  you 
know?" 

"  So  I  did :  I  quite  forgot  it." 

Charlie  reddened.     It  is  not  pleasant  to  be  forgotten  by 

[97] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

the  woman  you  love;  and  it  is  still  less  so  to  be  informed  of 
the  fact  before  a  roomful  of  your  dearest  friends.  But 
this  was  Fabia's  mode  of  punishing  him  for  presuming  to 
remember  what  it  had  suited  her  to  forget. 

"  Perhaps  Miss  Vipart  will  let  me  show  her  my  cottages 
to-morrow  instead,"  said  the  host,  with  his  usual  kindly  tact. 

Fabia,  seeing  that  the  bird  in  the  hand  had  escaped  from 
out  of  her  grasp,  accepted  the  substitute  from  the  bush  with 
the  best  grace  she  could  muster.  "  Thank  you,  Lord  Wrex- 
ham :  it  would  afford  me  the  greatest  pleasure  to  inspect  your 
model  farm:  and  at  the  same  time  I  may  be  able  to  borrow 
from  it  some  ideas  which  may  be  adopted,  on  my  return 
home,  to  the  improvement  of  my  Indian  estates." 

Lord  Wrexham  beamed.  There  are  few  men  who  do  not 
derive  gratification  from  being  requested  to  instruct  a  beauti- 
ful woman  and  still  fewer  who  can  resist  the  subtle  flattery 
of  being  consulted  upon  the  one  matter  which  they  do  not 
understand.  In  politics — wherein  he  really  was  proficient — 
Lord  Wrexham  frequently  doubted  his  own  wisdom:  but 
with  regard  to  farming — wherein  he  was  an  amateur  of  the 
first  water — he  spoke  with  authority  and  without  hesitation. 

"  I  shall  only  be  too  pleased  to  give  you  any  advice  or 
assistance  in  my  power,"  he  said. 

But  here  Mrs.  Gaythorne  inserted  her  usual  word  in 
season.  She  rarely  heard  of  the  formation  of  any  plan,  how- 
ever simple,  without  making  some  attempt  to  improve  it: 
and  this  not  from  any  unkindness  of  heart,  but  simply  from 
an  insatiable  passion  for  reform  in  the  abstract.  "  I  cannot 
think  that  the  Sabbath  day  is  a  suitable  occasion  for  peram- 
bulating farmyards  and  inspecting  livestock." 

"  But  why  not,  dear  lady,  why  not?  "  asked  Greenstreet. 
"  To  my  mind  there  is  no  more  suitable  amusement  for  a 

[98] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

Sunday  afternoon — no  occupation  more  in  keeping  with  the 
reposeful  atmosphere  of  the  day — than  to  scratch  the  back 
of  a  pig  with  the  end  of  one's  walking-stick.  I  always  em- 
brace such  an  opportunity  whenever  it  offers  itself:  it  is 
so  soothing  to  the  nerves  that  it  almost  sends  one  to  sleep 
on  the  spot." 

"  There  is  something  better  to  be  done  on  the  Sabbath 
than  to  be  sent  to  sleep,  Mr.  Greenstreet,"  replied  Mrs. 
Gaythorne  with  some  sternness. 

"Indeed:  then  why  listen  to  sermons?" 

Charlie  moved  restlessly  in  his  chair.  He  wished  Green- 
street  wouldn't  rouse  his  mother,  just  when  she  was  taking 
her  tea  so  nicely  and  quietly,  and  all  was  peace. 

Gabriel  gallantly  stepped  into  the  breach.  "  Surely,  Mrs. 
Gaythorne,  the  contemplation  of  God's  creatures  can  never 
be  a  desecration  of  God's  day.  And  besides  we  are  specially 
told  that  if  an  ox  or  an  ass  fall  into  a  pit  on  the  Sabbath 
day  we  can  pull  it  out:  which  surely  means  that  nothing 
done  to  alleviate  the  suffering  of  the  creature  can  ever  be 
displeasing  to  the  Creator." 

"  Mr.  Greenstreet  was  not  proposing  to  pull  an  ox  or  an 
ass  out  of  a  pit:  he  was  proposing  to  scratch  a  pig."  Mrs. 
Gaythorne  was  nothing  if  not  literal. 

"  And  in  so  doing  I  should  be  relieving  the  suffering  of 
another  without  any  inconvenience  to  myself,"  added  Green- 
street  :  "  the  very  essence  of  modern  Christianity." 

Again  Charlie  moved  restlessly.  It  was  all  very  well 
to  be  brave  he  thought:  but  to  wave  scarlet  bunting  in 
the  faces  of  dangerous  cattle  is  foolhardiness  rather  than 
courage. 

"  Besides,"  continued  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  as  usual  plodding 
steadily  along  a  side  issue,  "  oxen  and  asses  are  treated  with 

[99] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

great  respect  all  through  the  Scriptures:  they  were  both 
very  useful  and  important  animals  in  the  Holy  Land.  But 
no  Jew  would  ever  touch  bacon  or  pork."  She  had  a  happy 
knack  of  frequently  getting  the  best  of  an  argument  by  say- 
ing something  which  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the 
subject  under  discussion,  and  yet  sounded  as  if  it  had :  and 
thereby  confounding  her  opponents. 

Isabel  was  thoroughly  enjoying  herself.  She  wished  that 
Paul  were  here  to  share  her  unfailing  delight  in  Mrs.  Gay- 
thorne's  conversation;  but  he  had  gone  for  a  long  walk 
with  his  chief,  and  had  not  yet  returned. 

Greenstreet  was  slightly  staggered  for  a  second  by  the 
pork-and-bacon  thrust;  but  he  quickly  recovered  himself. 
"  I  am  always  thankful  I  am  not  a  Jew  for  that  very  reason," 
he  retorted :  "  what  would  life  be  without  the  taste  of  bacon  ; 
and  what  would  your  morning  tub  be  without  the  smell  of 
bacon  calling  you  to  breakfast?  " 

"You  are  quite  right,"  remarked  Isabel:  "bacon  is  one 
of  the  things  that  do  not  taste  at  the  time  half  so  nice  as 
they  smell  beforehand :  success  is  another  and  so  is  fame." 

"  And  marriage,  likewise." 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  Greenstreet.  Marriage  turns  out  to  be 
even  nicer  than  it  promises  to  be." 

"  Ah !  I  see ;  more  like  cauliflowers  than  bacon.  I  think, 
Mrs.  Seaton,  you  will  admit  that  other  people's  cauliflowers 
repel  rather  than  attract  when  the  air  is  filled  with  the 
promise  of  them :  and — as  far  as  I  am  concerned — other  peo- 
ple's marriages  have  the  same  effect." 

"  You  are  condemning  yourself  out  of  your  own  meta- 
phor," retorted  Isabel:  "you  compare  marriage  to  a  cauli- 
flower, and  you  admit  that  cauliflower  tastes  much  better 
than  it  smells." 

[  100  ] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  I  admit  that  it  couldn't  taste  much  worse." 

"  Then  in  the  same  way  you'll  find  that  marriage  will 
turn  out  much  nicer  than  you  expect." 

"  I  shall  not :  for  I  shall  never  make  the  experiment." 

Here  Mrs.  Gaythorne  again  pranced  into  the  conversa- 
tion. "  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  you  are  troubled  with  the 
odour  of  cooking  in  your  house,  Isabella:  but  I  am  not  sur- 
prised. Most  London  houses  are  the  same.  It  is  all  owing 
to  that  ridiculous  custom  of  building  them  in  the  shape  of  a 
well  with  the  kitchen  at  the  bottom." 

"  Like  truth,"  murmured  Mr.  Greenstreet. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Greenstreet,  I  did  not  catch 
your  remark.  My  hearing  is  not  what  it  once  was,  I  regret 
to  say." 

"  No  need  for  regret,  madam,  on  that  score,  when  I  am 
speaking:  it  is  rather  a  subject  for  self-congratulation  on 
your  part." 

"  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  if  you  build  your  house  like  a 
well  with  the  kitchen  at  the  bottom,  how  can  you  keep  the 
odour  of  cabbage-water  out  of  the  drawing-room?" 

"  Quite  easily,"  replied  Isabel.  "  I  always  succeed  in 
doing  so :  and  if  one  can  do  a  thing  oneself,  it  is  safe — though 
humiliating — to  conclude  that  nine-tenths  of  one's  acquain- 
tance can  do  it  equally  well." 

Mrs.  Gaythorne  looked  sternly  reproachful.  "  Isabella, 
how  can  you  say  there  is  no  odour  of  cabbage-water  in  your 
drawing-room,  when  you  have  just  been  complaining  to  Mr. 
Greenstreet  that  you  cannot  keep  it  out — neither  it  nor 
bacon?  Dear,  dear,  dear!  The  young  people  of  to-day  are 
not  as  truthful  as  we  were  when  we  were  young.  My  dear 
father  never  allowed  one  of  us  to  be  guilty  of  the  slightest 
inaccuracy  in  our  conversation.  I  remember  he  once  pun- 

[101] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

ished  my  sister  Maria  severely  for  saying  that  Henry  the 
Eighth  had  a  dozen  or  more  wives,  when  she  knew  for  a 
fact  that  he  had  only  six." 

"  But  dear  lady,  she  was  right — absolutely  right  from  an 
artistic  point  of  view,"  exclaimed  Greenstreet:  "your  sister 
Maria — pardon  me  for  speaking  in  such  familiar  terms  of 
the  lady,  but  I  know  her  by  no  other  name — was  a  born 
artist." 

"  She  was  not,  Mr.  Greenstreet.  I  was  the  artist  of  the 
family,  and  copied  flowers  from  nature  in  water  colours 
upon  hand-screens  for  bazaars:  Maria  played  the  piano,  and 
frequently  performed  at  village  concerts — with  encores." 

"  But  she  was  an  artist  all  the  same,  from  a  conversational 
point  of  view.  Every  good  talker  must  be  more  or  less  of 
an  impressionist.  For  instance,  if  you  say  '  Henry  the 
Eighth  had  dozens  of  wives,'  you  give  the  correct  impression 
that  he  was  a  much  married  man :  while  if  you  say,  '  Henry 
the  Eighth  had  barely  six  wives '  you  give  the  impression 
that  he  erred  on  the  side  of  celibacy,"  persisted  Greenstreet. 

"  I  do  not  approve  of  celibacy,"  remarked  Mrs.  Gay- 
thorne:  "especially  in  the  clergy." 

Once  again  Greenstreet  staggered  under  the  unexpected 
thrust ;  and  once  again  he  recovered  himself  by  clinging  man- 
fully to  Henry  the  Eighth  and  Maria.  "  Therefore  you 
see,  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  your  sister  conveyed  the  correct  im- 
pression by  using  the  incorrect  words.  She  expressed  the 
idea  that  King  Henry  married  frequently;  which  was  the 
idea  she  intended  to  express.  I  am  sure  that  Mrs.  Sea  ton 
catches  my  point,"  he  added,  turning  for  support  to  Isabel. 

"  Perfectly,"  she  replied.  "  On  the  same  principle  that 
a  touched-up  photograph  is  really  a  much  better  likeness 
than  an  unmodified  negative  which  cannot  lie." 

[  102] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

Mrs.  Gaythorne  as  usual  ignored  the  highroad  of  the 
conversation  and  stalked  fearlessly  along  a  by-way.  But  it 
ceased  to  be  anything  so  frivolous  as  a  by-way  the  moment 
that  the  good  lady  set  foot  upon  it.  Had  she  crossed  Bypath 
Meadow  itself,  it  would  immediately  have  been  converted 
into  a  solid  highroad.  "  I  do  not  at  all  disapprove  of  second 
marriages  myself,"  she  said;  "  not  at  all." 

She  spoke  indulgently,  as  if  she  expected  everybody  pres- 
ent to  run  out  and  contract  a  second  marriage  at  once,  now 
that  she  had  sanctioned  the  innocent  pastime.  "  And  where 
there  are  children,"  she  added,  "  I  consider  it  sometimes  a 
necessity." 

"  There  were  children  in  the  case  of  Henry  the  Eighth, 
if  I  remember  rightly,"  said  Isabel,  with  meekness  in  her 
manner  and  mischief  in  her  eye :  "  so  the  poor  man  could 
plead  extenuating  circumstances." 

"There  were,  Isabella:  Bloody  Mary  was  one  of  them. 
Think  of  having  Bloody  Mary  for  a  step-daughter!  I 
should  very  much  have  disliked  it." 

"  I  am  sure  you  would,"  said  Lord  Wrexham. 

"  But  she  would  have  acted  differently,"  continued  Mrs. 
Gaythorne,  "  if  I  had  had  the  early  training  of  her." 

"  You  mean,"  said  Greenstreet,  "  that  in  that  case  the  fires 
of  Smithfield  would  have  turned  seven  times  hotter  than 
they  did.  I  admit  the  theory  is  not  untenable." 

"  I  mean  that  in  that  case  there  would  have  been  no  Smith- 
field,"  replied  Mrs.  Gaythorne  majestically:  "  I  should  have 
put  my  foot  down  upon  it  at  once." 

Here  Isabel  and  Gabriel  laughed  outright,  and  Lord 
Wrexham  stroked  his  moustache  to  hide  a  smile;  but  Charlie 
could  not  for  the  life  of  him  see  what  there  was  to  laugh 
at.  He  knew  that  he  dared  not  have  burnt  a  single  Protes- 

[  103  ] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

tant  if  his  mother  had,  as  she  called  it '  put  her  foot  down  ' — 
a  favourite  form  of  exercise  with  her;  and  he  very  much 
doubted  if  anybody  else,  Queen  Mary  included,  dared  have 
done  so  either.  But  other  people  did  not  know  the  weight 
of  his  mother's  foot.  He  did. 

And  all  this  time  Fabia  sat  silent,  not  joining  in  the  con- 
versation at  all.  She  was  one  of  the  women  who  cannot 
talk  except  in  a  tete-a-tete;  by  no  means  an  uncommon  type. 
General  conversation  invariably  sealed  her  lips.  But  she 
looked  so  beautiful  that  silence  in  her  was  pardonable,  if 
not  commendable.  Every  woman  ought  either  to  talk  well 
or  to  look  well,  though  she  cannot  reasonably  be  expected 
to  do  both:  but  if  she  does  neither,  she  has  no  place  in  the 
scheme  of  social  creation,  and  is  only  fit  for  domestic  uses. 

In  Isabel  Seaton  the  social  instinct  was  very  strong.  Con- 
versation was  to  her  a  game,  whereof  it  behoved  everyone 
to  know  the  rules.  Had  she  lived  a  century  or  two  earlier, 
she  could  have  held  a  salon  with  the  best:  as  it  was,  she 
was  an  ideal  wife  for  a  diplomatist  or  a  politician.  To  ig- 
nore your  partner's  lead  in  conversation  wras  in  her  eyes  as 
bad  as  to  ignore  it  in  whist:  to  say  the  wrong  thing,  as 
heinous  as  to  play  the  wrong  card :  to  sit  silent,  as  unpardon- 
able as  to  revoke.  In  conversation  she  was  a  veritable  Sarah 
Battle,  insisting  upon  "  the  rigour  of  the  game  " :  so  now, 
according  to  her  instinct,  she  endeavoured  to  restore  to  ani- 
mation the  conversation  which  Mrs.  Gaythorne  had  nearly 
trampled  to  death. 

"  I  am  so  interested,"  she  said,  "  in  what  you  say  about 
all  good  talkers  being  impressionists,  Mr.  Greenstreet.  I 
know  exactly  what  you  mean,  and  fully  agree  with  you; 
but  unfortunately  it  never  occurred  to  me  to  put  it  as 
neatly  as  you  have  done." 

[  104] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

Lord  Wrexham  looked  at  her  in  admiration.  How  ready 
she  always  was  to  put  people  at  their  ease,  and  how  success- 
fully she  oiled  the  wheels  of  life  wherever  she  happened  to 
find  herself.  Seaton  was  indeed  a  lucky  fellow!  It  was  a 
pity  that  a  man  with  such  a  career  before  him  as  the  posses- 
sion of  so  brilliant  a  wife  ensured,  should  throw  it  away 
for  the  sake  of  those  political  will-o'-the-wisps  which  have 
lured  men  and  their  party  to  destruction  ever  since  politics 
was  first  invented!  So  mused  the  Prime  Minister.  He 
made  it  a  point  of  honour  never  to  breathe  a  word  to  any- 
body against  Isabel's  husband :  he  made  it  a  matter  of  prin- 
ciple not  to  feel  bitter  against  nor  envious  of  this  man  who 
had  taken  from  him  the  one  thing  that  he  had  really  cared 
for  in  life:  but  he  found  it  a  great  comfort  to  say  now  and 
then  to  his  own  soul  that  Paul  Seaton  was  no  statesman. 

Greenstreet's  thin  face  lighted  up  with  pleasure.  The 
approval  of  Mrs.  Paul  Seaton  was  a  compliment  which  few 
men  ignored. 

"  I  think  I  am  right,"  he  replied. 

"I  am  sure  you  are,"  put  in  Gabriel  Carr;  "and  that 
is  why  very  accurate  people  are  always  so  tiresome.  My  late 
Rector  was  that  sort :  one  of  the  best  men  that  ever  breathed : 
but  so  accurate,  and  so  anxious  to  make  other  people  accurate, 
that  I  verily  believe  he  would  have  liked  to  correct  S.  John 
himself  for  saying  that  even  the  world  itself  could  not  con- 
tain the  books  that  should  be  written." 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Gaythorne  was  heard  to  murmur  some- 
thing about  belief  in  the  verbal  inspiration  of  the  Scriptures 
being  absolutely  necessary  to  salvation:  but  fortunately  she 
was  so  much  engaged  with  a  large  teacake — judiciously 
administered  by  Charlie — that  no  one  heard  exactly  what 
she  said;  and  she  was  unable,  not  from  any  lack  of  moral 

[105] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

courage  but  for  purely  physical  reasons  more  openly  to 
testify  to  her  acceptance  of  this  saving  truth  until  the  occa- 
sion had  passed  by. 

"  My  horror,"  said  Isabel,  "  is  a  person  who  relates  an 
incident  exactly  as  it  happened:  because  then  it  isn't  worth 
relating  at  all." 

Carr  fully  agreed  with  her.  "  I  have  an  uncle  of  that 
kind,  who  always  uses  inverted  commas  instead  of  the 
oblique  narration;  and,  you  know  how  wearing  to  the  flesh 
that  is !  Instead  of  saying,  '  My  wife's  sister  told  me  she 
had  a  cold,'  he  would  say  '  My  wife's  sister  said  to  me, 
John;  Yes,  Jane,  I  answered;  John,  said  my  wife's  sister, 
I  have  a  cold.'  " 

By  this  time  the  teacake  had  gone  the  way  of  all  tea- 
cakes,  and  Mrs.  Gaythorne  once  more  enjoyed  freedom  of 
utterance.  "  And  did  he  marry  her?  "  she  asked  cheerfully. 

Even  the  redoubtable  Gabriel  was  nonplussed.  "  Marry 
her  ?  Marry  whom  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Why,  his  deceased  wife's  sister  of  course.  Who  else 
were  you  talking  about?  " 

"  I  never  mentioned  anybody's  deceased  wife's  sister,  Mrs. 
Gaythorne."  The  Vicar  knew  better  than  to  introduce  so 
debatable  a  lady  into  any  conversation  of  his  own  free  will : 
he  was  a  lover  of  peace. 

But  Mrs.  Gaythorne  was  not  easily  brushed  aside  when 
she  had  turned  a  by-way  into  a  warpath  and  started  upon 
it.  "  Yes,  Gabriel  Carr,  you  did :  you  said  she  had  a  cold, 
and  that  your  uncle  himself  told  you  so;  and  what  I  want 
to  know  is,  whether  he  eventually  married  her.  Not  that 
I  should  blame  him  if  he  did:  far  from  it!  For  my  part 
I  approve  of  marriage  with  a  deceased  wife's  sister.  \Vho, 
I  should  like  to  know,  is  so  fit  a  guardian  of  the  children 

[106] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

as  their  aunt?  I  always  told  Mr.  Gaythorne  that  if  any- 
happened  to  me  I  should  wish — positively  wish — him 
to  marry  my  sister  Maria.  I  should  have  had  such  perfect 
confidence  in  her  training  of  Charles.  Maria  always  knew 
when  to  put  her  foot  down." 

"  And  did  the  late  Mr.  Gaythorne  share  you  opinions 
upon  this  vexed  question  ?  "  asked  Carr  with  a  smile. 

"No:  he  did  not  approve  of  marriage  with  a  deceased 
wife's  sister  at  all." 

"  I  can  believe  it,"  murmured  Greenstreet :  "  men  are  so 
prejudiced." 

"  And  I  cannot  think  why  he  of  all  men  should  have 
objected  to  it,"  continued  Mr.  Gaythorne's  widow  reflec- 
tively; "because  Maria  was  the  very  image  of  me.  It 
would  have  been  almost  like  having  me  back  again." 

"  It  was  strange,"  assented  Carr  with  a  glance  at  Isabel's 
preternaturally  solemn  face :  "  very  strange  indeed !  " 

"  But  where  I  do  blame  your  uncle,"  continued  Mrs. 
Gaythorne,  once  again  turning  and  rending  the  unoffending 
Gabriel,  "  is  for  talking  about  his  deceased  wife's  sister's 
cold  and  making  such  a  fuss  about  it:  and  you  can  tell  him 
so  from  me  if  you  like.  It  was  enough  to  make  the  poor 
woman  nervous,  and  lead  her  to  imagine  herself  worse  than 
she  really  was.  There  is  no  greater  mistake  than  to  talk 
about  one's  ailments." 

"  Except  to  talk  about  other  people's,"  Isabel  added. 

"  Yes,  Isabella,  you  are  right.  It  certainly  makes  other 
people  nervous.  But  I  never  knew  anything  like  young 
people  of  the  present  day  for  talking  about  their  diseases. 
For  my  part,  I  think  it  positively  improper." 

"  You  consider  there  is  indelicacy  in  the  discussion  of 
delicacy,  do  you,  Mrs.  Gaythorne?"  suggested  Greenstreet. 

[  107] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

"  I  do,  Mr.  Greenstreet.  In  my  young  days  people  were 
not  always  turning  themselves  inside  out  for  their  friends' 
inspection." 

"  It  isn't  only  the  young  who  are  guilty  of  this  folly," 
argued  Isabel :  "  I  never  meet  an  old  gentleman  nowadays 
who  does  not,  so  to  speak,  wear  his  liver  upon  his  sleeve  for 
daws  to  peck  at." 

"  Modern  complaints  always  end  in  itis"  continued  Mrs. 
Gaythorne :  "  I  disapprove  of  diseases  that  end  in  itis." 

"  Still  you  must  admit  they  might  end  in  something 
worse,"  said  Carr. 

Mrs.  Gaythorne  majestically  ignored  such  ill-timed  levity. 
"  When  I  was  young,  the  complaints  that  people  suffered 
from  did  not  end  in  itis,  they  ended  in  ache:  and  nobody 
talked  about  them." 

By  this  time  she  had  slain  the  conversation  even  beyond 
Isabel's  revivifying  powers:  so — tea  being  finished — Lord 
Wrexham  suggested  a  move  into  the  garden. 

The  company  went  their  various  ways:  and  Fabia  soon 
found  herself  alone  with  Captain  Gaythorne  in  a  secluded 
part  of  the  wood.  Strange  to  say,  his  presence  did  not  irri- 
tate her  just  then.  She  had  seen  the  expression  upon  Lord 
Wrexham 's  face  when  he  looked  at  Isabel;  and  she  knew 
from  that  instant  that  her  own  hopes  of  ever  annexing  the 
Prime  Minister  were  vain.  Therefore  she  was  suffering 
from  the  combined  pangs  of  envy  and  disappointment.  Also 
she  had  felt  herself  left  out  in  the  cold  ever  since  she  came 
to  Vernacre — a  feeling  to  which  she  was  accustomed,  but 
which  hurt  her  more  cruelly  every  time  she  experienced  it: 
and  that  added  to  her  chagrin  and  misery.  So  when  Captain 
Gaythorne  followed  her  across  the  lawn  and  into  the  wood, 
she  felt  for  the  first  time  a  sense  of  rest  and  security  in  the 

[108] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

society  of  this  big,  silent,  devoted  man.  It  was  a  comfort 
to  find  anybody  who  really  adored  her,  in  this  easy,  pleasant, 
cruel  English  society.  Love  was  the  thing  which  her  soul 
most  passionately  craved;  love  given  and  received;  and  she 
had  never  had  her  share  of  it.  True,  Ram  Chandar  Muk- 
harji  had  offered  it  to  her  in  extravagant  excess:  but  she 
did  not  care  for  the  adoration  of  such  as  he.  She  was 
enough  of  an  Englishwoman  to  despise  her  mother's  people 
and  enough  of  an  Oriental  for  the  English  to  despise  her;  and 
love  which  she  did  not  fully  reciprocate  could  never  satisfy 
her.  Poor  Fabia!  Life  was  too  hard  for  her  just  then,  as 
indeed  it  had  always  been  ever  since  she  could  remember. 
Mukharji  wrote  constantly  to  her,  and  she  enjoyed  and 
appreciated  his  letters.  She  knew  that  intellectually  he  was 
immeasurably  Charlie  Gaythorne's  superior;  yet  at  the  pres- 
ent moment  the  admiration  of  the  brainless  young  British 
soldier  was  far  more  acceptable  to  Fabia's  wounded  spirit 
than  Ram  Chandar's  life-long  devotion. 

She  waited  for  Charlie  to  speak,  with  considerably  more 
kindness  and  patience  than  she  usually  accorded  to  his  con- 
versational efforts :  and  made  up  her  mind  to  be  what  women 
call  "  nice  to  him,"  whatever  he  might  choose  to  say. 

For  a  time  the  two  walked  on  without  speaking.  They 
were  both  naturally  silent  people — the  woman  because  she 
thought  too  much,  and  the  man  because  he  thought  too  lit- 
tle— so  there  was  nothing  unusual  in  this:  and  Fabia  calmly 
awaited  Charlie's  utterance  with  the  pleasing  certainty  that 
it  would  be  more  soothing  to  her  vanity  than  stimulating 
to  her  mind.  Though  he  was  never  clever,  he  was  invariably 
complimentary. 

At  last  he  broke  the  silence.  "  I  can't  stand  that  ass 
Greenstreet !  "  he  -said. 

[  109] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

Fabia  was  surprised.  It  was  not  at  all  what  she  had 
expected  him  to  say:  and  she  saw  no  reason  for  such  violent 
hostility  either,  as  Mr.  Greenstreet  had  never  paid  her  the 
slightest  attention.  But  she  knew  from  the  sound  of 
Charlie's  voice  that  he  was  very  angry  indeed. 

"Why  not?"  she  asked. 

"  He  was  making  fun  of  my  mother  all  through  tea,  the 
confounded  bounder!  Didn't  you  hear  him?" 

Fabia  felt  as  if  a  douche  of  cold  water  had  suddenly  been 
flung  in  her  face.  So  it  was  his  mother's  battle  that  he 
was  fighting,  and  not  hers !  It  was  the  old  story  over  again. 
They  really  cared  for  nothing  in  the  world  but  themselves 
and  their  order,  these  well-born  English  people.  Even  the 
simple  and  adoring  Charlie  was  an  aristocrat  at  heart. 

"  Perhaps  he  was,"  she  answered  coldly. 

"  Of  course  he  was,  confound  his  impudence !  And  I 
won't  stand  it.  If  he  tries  it  on  again,  I'll  kick  him  into 
the  horsepond,  Wrexham  or  no  Wrexham!  I'm  not  going 
to  allow  anybody's  guests  to  insult  my  mother;  and  I'll  let 
Wrexham  know  it  pretty  sharp !  " 

Fabia  hardly  recognised  the  usually  placid  and  amiable 
Charlie  in  this  infuriated  young  giant. 

"  And  it  isn't  as  if  there  was  anything  to  make  fun  of  in 
my  mother  either,"  he  went  on ;  "  some  fellows'  mothers  are 
a  rummy  sort,  I  admit;  but  mine  isn't.  Of  course  some 
women  do  things  that  you  can't  help  smiling  at ;  though  it's 
shocking  bad  form  to  let  their  people  see  you're  laughing 
at  them  all  the  same.  But  my  mother  isn't  that  sort:  she 
doesn't  do  or  say  things  that  make  a  fellow  even  want  to 
laugh  at  her,  don't  you  know?" 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you  that  it  would  be  impossible  to 
caricature  Mrs.  Gaythorne." 

[no] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  Of  course  it  would,"  said  Charlie,  mollified  at  once  by 
what  he  took  to  be  Fabia's  assent  to  his  statement :  "  that's 
just  my  point.  Now  some  old  ladies  are  downright  funny; 
there's  no  denying  that;  though  that's  no  excuse  for  a  man 
behaving  like  a  thorough-paced  cad." 

"  I  think,"  remarked  Fabia  slowly,  "  that  there  is  only 
one  thing  more  aggravating  than  a  man  when  he  behaves 
like  a  thorough-paced  cad ;  and  that  is  when  he  behaves  like 
an  English  gentleman." 

But  fortunately  Charlie  was  too  full  of  his  own  grievance 
even  to  hear — much  less  to  understand — this  enigmatical 
dictum. 

"  For  instance,"  he  went  on,  "  I  daresay,  if  we  knew  her, 
we  should  find  Seaton's  mother  rather  a  queer  sort.  His 
people  are  nobody  particular;  so  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if 
the  old  lady  was  a  bit  ignorant  and  old-fashioned  and  nar- 
row, and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  don't  you  know?  And  no 
blame  to  her,  either!  You  can't  expect  anybody  who  isn't 
anybody  to  know  anything;  can  you?  But  my  mother  is 
quite  a  different  thing!  " 

"Who  was  Mrs.  Gaythorne  before  she  was  married?" 
asked  Fabia  in  all  innocence. 

Charlie  opened  his  eyes  wide,  in  as  unbounded  amazement 
as  if  she  had  asked  who  Queen  Anne  was  before  she  was 
married.  Here  was  crass  ignorance  indeed!  Then  he  re- 
membered how  Fabia  had  once  said  that  she  did  not  know 
that  his  mother  was  saved,  which  was  even  worse.  This 
was  bad  enough,  but  not  so  bad  as  that.  Not  to  know 
whence  Mrs.  Gaythorne  came,  showed  an  indifference  to 
history  which  was  highly  culpable ;  but  not  to  know  whither 
Mrs.  Gaythorne  was  going,  proved  an  ignorance  of  the- 
ology which  was  positively  appalling.  Charlie  was  too 
[in] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

polite  to  testify  openly  to  his  astonishment  at  such  a  ques- 
tion ;  so  he  merely  replied,  "  She  was  one  of  the  Latimers 
of  Luske." 

"  And  who  are  the  Latimers  of  Luske?  " 

This  was  worse  than  ever!  But  Captain  Gaythorne 
pitied  rather  than  blamed  such  astounding  mental  darkness; 
just  as  he  would  have  pitied  rather  than  blamed  her  had 
Fabia  confessed  that  she  did  not  know  how  to  read  or  write. 
"  They  are  the — the — well,  the  Latimers,  don't  you  know  ? 
— the  Latimers  of  Luske:  the  Latimers  of  Leatherby  are 
the  younger  branch  of  the  family." 

"  I  see :  the  Latimers  of  Luske  are  the  Latimers  of 
Luske,  and  the  Latimers  of  Leatherby  are  the  Latimers  of 
Leatherby." 

"  Of  course.  And  to  think  of  a  little  middle-class  beggar 
like  Greenstreet  daring  to  make  fun  of  one  of  the  Latimers 
of  Luske.  I  never  heard  such  confounded  cheek!  " 

"  Mr.  Greenstreet  undoubtedly  belongs  to  the  middle- 
class,"  remarked  Fabia:  "he  has  brains." 

"  Oh !  I  don't  deny  the  brute's  clever  in  his  way ;  but 
I'm  glad  you  agree  with  me  that  anybody  can  see  at  a 
glance  he  is  not  one  of  us,"  replied  Charlie,  in  all  good 
faith. 

"  Certainly;  he  has  a  sense  of  humour." 

"  That  he  has ;  and  it  carries  him  a  bit  too  far  at  times ; 
a  precious  sight  too  far,  when  he  begins  to  make  fun  of  my 
mother."  And  Charlie  returned  to  his  grievance  like  a 
giant  refreshed. 

Fabia  moved  her  shoulders  impatiently.  She  had  not 
come  into  the  woods  in  order  to  talk  about  Charlie  Gay- 
thorne's  mother,  but  apparently  he  had :  and — as  is  usual — 
the  slower  mind  had  its  own  way,  at  the  expense  of  the 

[112] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

quicker  one.  Miss  Vipart  felt  irritated;  and  justly  so.  It 
is  always  trying  to  a  woman's  temper  if  a  man  talks  about 
his  own  relations,  when  she  wants  him  to  talk  about  his 
relations  with  her. 

Now  if  Charlie  had  been  wise  enough  to  propose  to  Fabia 
on  that  particular  afternoon,  she  would  have  accepted  him 
then  and  there,  and  so  would  have  saved  certain  further 
complications.  But  Charlie  talked  about  his  mother  instead 
of  proposing,  and  expatiated  upon  that  good  lady's  attributes 
until  the  time  and  the  audience  were  alike  exhausted :  thereby 
paving  the  way  for  another  to  step  in  and  to  win  the  affec- 
tion which  he  longed  for.  If  he  gives  twice  who  gives 
quickly,  surely  he  who  asks  tardily  often  receives  but  half: 
there  are  many  Esaus  who  only  obtain  the  second  blessing 
because  they  come  and  beg  for  it  too  late. 


CHAPTER    IX 

GABRIEL    THE    PRIEST 

WHIT-SUNDAY  dawned  fair  and  bright:  and  the  Vernacre 
party  duly  to  church  repaired  at  the  appointed  hour.  Lord 
Wrexham  was  a  man  who  regularly  attended  Divine  wor- 
ship every  Sunday  morning :  and  there  was  a  general  impres- 
sion abroad  at  Vernacre — though  he  never  expressed  it  in 
words — that  he  expected  his  guests  to  do  likewise. 

Vernacre  Church  was  a  rare  and  perfect  specimen  of 
Norman  architecture :  and  as  Isabel  Seaton  sat  in  the  beauti- 
ful and  ancient  edifice,  and  watched  the  sunlight  pouring 
through  the  old  stained  windows  upon  the  brows  of  the 
stone  Crusaders  lying  asleep  upon  their  tombs,  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  prayers  of  countless  generations  stole  into  her 
soul  and  filled  it  with  a  great  peace.  For  long  centuries 
the  incense  of  prayer  had  risen  up  to  Heaven  from  this 
little  western  temple:  and  now  she,  too,  was  adding  her 
humble  petitions  to  the  unbroken  chain  of  ceaseless  supplica- 
tion— she,  too,  was  saying  her  Amens  to  the  age-long  inter- 
cessions of  departed  saints.  For  a  time  the  overpowering 
influence  of  an  historic  Church  seized  her  and  held  her  in 
its  grasp.  The  hymn  of  praise  which  she  was  now  singing 
had  been  begun  in  Jerusalem  on  this  very  day  nearly  nine- 
teen centuries  ago:  and  it  would  sound  on  down  the  ages 
yet  to  come,  until  it  was  at  last  merged  in  that  new  song 
thundering  upon  Mount  Sion,  which  no  man  could  learn 

["4] 


THE    SUBJECTION   OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

save  those  which  were  redeemed  from  the  earth  and  had 
the  Father's  Name  written  in  their  foreheads.  There  had 
been  no  break  in  the  continuity  of  that  song;  no  pause  in 
the  uplifting  of  those  prayers ;  no  extinguishing  of  that  sacred 
fire  which  was  first  kindled  by  the  eleven  tongues  when  the 
Apostles  were  all  with  one  accord  in  one  place. 

Now,  alas!  the  disciples  of  the  Master  are  no  longer  in 
one  place  with  one  accord:  the  primitive  state  of  unity  has 
long  gone  by.  There  have  been  strifes  and  persecutions 
where  there  should  have  been  love  and  peace;  yet  the  chain 
of  prayer  and  praise  remains  unbroken  and  intact:  although 
even  devout  men  are  apt  to  forget  that  though  there  is  but 
One  Church,  there  are  divers  forms  of  utterance  in  that 
Church ;  and  that  it  is  still  given  to  each  of  us  to  hear,  every 
man  in  his  own  tongue  wherein  he  was  born,  the  wonderful 
works  of  God.  When  the  sermon  began,  Isabel  attuned 
herself  to  listen,  for  she  was  ever  athirst — like  the  Athenians 
of  old — to  hear  some  new  thing:  but  it  turned  out  to  be 
one  of  those  discourses  which  George  Herbert  had  in  his 
mind's  eye  when  he  said,  "  God  takes  a  text  and  preacheth 
patience."  So  Isabel's  thoughts  were  driven  back  upon  her- 
self: and  her  patient  meditations  took  a  personal  turn. 

She  thought  of  herself  and  Paul,  and  of  how  their  future 
life  was  going  to  shape  itself.  She  dwelt  with  regret  half 
tender  and  half-humorous  upon  her  husband's  wonderful 
power  of  seeing  only  one  side  of  a  question,  and  that  always 
the  brighter  side.  She  did  not  as  yet  understand  that  it 
is  the  men  that  see  only  one  side  of  a  question  who  have 
most  power  in  convincing  other  men — that  it  is  the  enthu- 
siast rather  than  the  wiseacre  wrho  removes  mountains  and 
wins  battles.  The  wise  men  have  their  place  in  the  world — • 
the  world  could  not  roll  on  comfortably  without  them:  but 

[115] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

we  do  not  place  them  In  the  forefront  of  the  battle,  nor 
entrust  them  with  the  leadership  of  forlorn  hopes.  It  is  the 
old  heads  that  watch  and  guard  and  counsel  and  advise: 
but  it  is  the  young  shoulders  that  push  and  jostle  and  make 
their  way  through  the  crowd. 

Isabel  loved  her  husband  with  all  her  heart,  and  rever- 
enced him  with  all  her  soul :  but  she  had  not  yet  passed  the 
final  and  most  difficult  test  of  wifely  submission,  namely 
the  conviction  that  he  knew  better  than  she  did :  a  conviction 
which — if  not  always  supported  by  facts — must  invariably 
count  for  righteousness  to  the  woman  who  is  imbued  with  it. 

To  Isabel's  easy,  good-humoured  cynicism,  Paul's  almost 
boyish  adherence  to  his  ideals  appeared  visionary  and  un- 
practical. It  seemed  like  believing  in  fairies  and  witches 
and  gnomes.  The  difference  between  their  two  natures, 
while  it  intensified  their  love,  made  it  difficult  for  them  to 
understand  each  other:  and  yet  each  character  had  its  com- 
pensations. Paul  believed  in  the  ideal  side  of  human  nature 
more  than  Isabel  did:  his  world  was  more  densely  peopled 
with  heroes  and  saints  than  was  hers :  yet,  on  the  other  hand, 
his  very  belief  in  humanity  made  him  hard  upon  it  when  it 
failed  and  fell  short;  whilst  she  cherished  an  abundant  toler- 
ance towards  all  the  faults  and  weaknesses  of  her  fellows. 
The  denizens  of  Isabel's  world  were  not  heroes  nor  saints, 
but  ordinary  men  and  women:  therefore  she  was  neither 
angry  nor  disappointed  when  they  comported  themselves 
according  to  their  kind.  But  Paul,  it  must  be  admitted, 
was  sometimes  both. 

After  indulging  in  sundry  half-humorous,  half-pathetic 
regrets  over  Paul's  singleness  of  eye  and  blindness  of  heart 
(as  she  considered  them),  Isabel's  thoughts  flew  to  the  possi- 
ble Governorship  of  Tasmania  as  the  one  safe  refuge  from  the 

[116] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

dangers  and  follies  which  assailed  her  husband.  There  he 
would  be  safe  for  awhile,  and  would  have  time  to  learn 
that  wisdom  which  only  time  can  teach.  And  it  would  not 
only  be  a  safe  city  of  refuge:  it  would  be  a  glorious  palace 
of  delights.  Isabel  had  been  very  happy  out  in  India  long 
ago  with  Sir  Benjamin  and  Lady  Farley:  and  she  had  ever 
since  looked  upon  the  life  of  a  Colonial  Governor  as  the 
most  perfect  form  of  earthly  existence  possible,  bar  one:  the 
one  thing  more  utterly  delightful  than  the  life  of  a  Colonial 
Governor  being  the  life  of  a  Colonial  Governor's  wife. 

To  feel  that  such  a  lot  was  practically  within  her  grasp 
made  her  almost  dizzy  with  happiness:  it  would  be  the  real- 
isation of  .her  most  cherished  castles  in  the  air — the  fulfil- 
ment of  her  wildest  dreams.  She  could  imagine  nothing 
else  on  earth  that  she  should  enjoy  so  much  as  thus  playing 
at  being  a  queen:  it  would  suit  her  artistic  nature  and  her 
dramatic  instincts  down  to  the  ground,  she  thought:  and  she 
revelled  in  the  contemplation  of  the  mere  possibility  of  it. 

And  Isabel  was  not  the  only  one  who  saw  visions  in  the 
old  village  church  on  that  summer  Sunday  morning:  Fabia 
also  dreamed  dreams.  She  was  sitting  near  to  the  tomb  of 
one  of  the  ancient  lords  of  Vernacre,  who  wore  upon  his 
helmet  the  head  of  a  Saracen  maid:  and  Fabia  recalled  the 
story  of  this  old  crusader,  which  his  descendant  had  related 
to  her  on  the  preceding  evening.  Sir  Godfrey  de  Rexham 
had  been  taken  prisoner  by  the  Saracens,  soon  after  he 
joined  the  first  Crusade:  and  the  daughter  of  his  captor — 
a  Saracen  maid  of  great  beauty — saw  the  English  knight 
and  fell  in  love  with  him.  Secretly  she  visited  him  in  his 
dungeon,  and  offered  to  effect  his  escape  on  condition  that 
he  would  take  her  with  him  back  to  England  as  his  wife. 
The  temptation  was  great,  but  Sir  Godfrey  was  a  man  of 


THE    SUBJECTION 

honour:  and  he  therefore  confessed  to  the  lady  that  he  was 
already  betrothed  to  one  of  his  own  country-women,  and 
was  bound — should  he  ever  return  to  England — to  marry 
that  lady:  so  that  escape  upon  the  terms  now  offered  was 
impossible.  But  the  Moorish  girl  boasted  that  most  precious 
of  all  possessions,  an  absolutely  unselfish  love:  and  she  still 
effected  the  escape  of  the  knight  and  sent  him  back  to  Eng- 
land to  marry  his  lady-love.  Which  he  accordingly  did, 
and  lived  happy  ever  after:  but  he  henceforth  wore  as  his 
crest  the  head  of  a  Saracen  maid,  in  token  of  his  gratitude. 
And  as  Fabia  Vipart  looked  at  the  crest  upon  his  helmet,  a 
great  pity  for  the  woman  filled  her  heart.  So  this  girl  had 
had  to  learn,  as  she  herself  had  done,  how  cold  were  the 
English  and  how  wrapped  up  in  themselves  and  in  each 
other.  She  wondered  what  happened  to  the  Moorish  maiden 
after  the  knight  had  fled.  Did  she  die  of  a  broken  heart 
because  she  had  loved  in  vain?  Or  did  her  father  slay  her, 
because  she  had  contrived  the  escape  of  his  enemy,  and  had 
allowed  a  Christian  to  gaze  upon  the  beauty  of  her  face? 
Upon  this  point  history  was  silent:  it  only  busied  itself  with 
the  domestic  affairs  of  the  Englishman — in  chronicling  the 
ancestry  of  his  highly  respectable  wife  and  the  number  of  his 
commonplace  children.  So  handsome,  however,  was  his 
marble  effigy  that  Fabia  did  not  blame  the  maid  for  having 
loved  him:  and  beautiful  indeed  was  the  female  head  upon 
his  crest — beautiful  somewhat  after  Fabia's  own  fashion. 
But  there  was  no  beauty  in  the  face  or  figure  of  the  woman 
lying  by  his  side,  mentioned  in  the  fading  inscription  on  the 
tomb  as  "  Dame  Philippa  his  wife."  Hers  was  a  stiff  prim 
kind  of  face,  made  still  stiffer  and  primmer  by  the  severe 
and  hideous  dress  of  her  time.  And  he  had  given  up  the 
Moorish  girl  for  a  woman  such  as  this !  How  truly  English 

[118] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

of  him,  said  Fabia  to  herself  with  a  little  scornful  smile. 
Fabia  wondered  who  this  lady  had  been  before  her  mar- 
riage: perhaps  one  of  the  Latimers  of  Luske,  or  one  of  the 
bearers  of  some  equally  respectable  old  name  which  the  Eng- 
lish love  to  conjure  with:  for  apparently  to  the  typical 
British  mind  the  glory  of  a  long  line  of  noble  Oriental 
ancestry  was  as  nothing  compared  with  the  overpower- 
ing honour  of  being  born  a  Latimer  of  Luske — or  its 
equivalent. 

Then  a  change  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  Fabia's  dream,  and 
she  began  to  envy  this  Eastern  maiden  instead  of  pitying 
her:  envying  her  because  it  had  been  given  to  her  to  love 
another  so  much  that  her  own  happiness  became  as  nothing. 
After  all,  there  was  something  in  this  love  which  trans- 
figured life  and  glorified  death  as  nothing  else  could  do: 
and  Fabia  had  never  tasted  it — never  known  for  an  instant 
what  it  was  to  love  another  better  than  herself.  She  won- 
dered if  this  had  been  her  own  fault,  or  the  fault  of  her 
circumstances.  She  was  too  clear-sighted  not  to  blame  her- 
self when  blame  was  due:  but  she  was  not  sure  in  this  case 
whether  she  deserved  it.  She  knew  that  she  would  gladly 
have  loved  if  she  could — thankfully  have  merged  her  own 
life  and  happiness  in  the  life  and  happiness  of  another:  but 
the  power  to  do  so  seemed  to  have  been  denied  her.  She 
could  always  look  critically  upon  her  friends,  whoever  they 
might  be — always  see  clearly  the  faults  of  those  about  her: 
yet  while  she  plumed  herself  upon  her  own  open  vision, 
and  despised  the  blind  credulity  of  other  people,  she  could 
not  help  envying  simpler  women  their  unshaken  and  un- 
shakable conviction  that  their  own  particular  husbands  were 
infallible  and  omniscient:  and  that  the  judgment  of  those 
gifted  beings  on  any  and  every  subject  under  (or  even 

["9] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

above)  the  sun  was  absolute  and  final.  Such  perfect  confi- 
dence in  the  other  partner  to  the  transaction  would  certainly 
very  much  simplify  the  difficulties  of  married  life:  but 
where  was  Fabia  to  find  the  man  who  could  inspire  her 
with  such  confidence? 

In  vain  she  ran  down  the  list  of  possible  husbands.  Cap- 
tain Gaythorne  was  out  of  the  question,  he  was  such  a  con- 
summate fool.  Lord  Wrexham  had  rank  and  dignity,  but 
he  lacked  the  magnetism  of  personal  charm,  which  to  Fabia 
was  indispensable.  Her  cousin,  Mukharji,  dominated  her 
intellectually :  but  he  was  wanting  in  that  social  prestige, 
which  in  her  eyes  counted  for  so  much.  Gabriel  Carr 
possessed  physical  beauty  as  well  as  mental  power:  but — 
although  she  admired  him  more  than  any  man  she  had  yet 
seen — she  felt  that  there  was  an  almost  feminine  quickness 
of  perception  and  subtlety  of  thought  about  him,  which 
would  always  prevent  her  from  acknowledging  him  as  the 
superior  power,  and  cause  her  to  regard  him  as  an  equal. 

In  the  depths  of  her  heart  she  knew  that  she  longed  to 
find  her  master — she  felt  her  very  soul  was  crying  out  for 
the  touch  of  a  conquering  hand.  And  she  knew,  further, 
that  if  ever  she  did  find  such  a  one — a  man  who  would  rule 
her  absolutely  with  a  rod  of  iron,  and  would  prove  himself 
once  and  for  all  stronger  than  herself — she  could  come  to 
his  call,  whoever  and  whatever  he  was,  and  would  submis- 
sively acknowledge  in  the  face  of  all  the  world  the  divine 
right  of  such  a  thing. 

There  are  two  types  of  women  in  this  world :  the  woman 
who  is  seeking  for  her  master,  and  the  woman  who  is  seek- 
ing for  her  mate.  They  are  equally  normal — equally  femi- 
nine: there  is  no  credit  in  being  of  the  one  sort — no  discredit 
in  belonging  to  the  other.  Yet  it  behoves  every  woman  to 

[  120] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

find  out  to  which  classification  she  does  belong,  and  to  marry 
accordingly,  lest  haply  she  should  discover  too  late  that  she 
has  chosen  a  prince  to  take  the  part  of  a  playfellow,  or  a 
comrade  to  wear  the  crown  of  a  king. 

For  the  last  few  weeks  the  friendship  between  Fabia  and 
the  vicar  of  S.  Etheldreda's  had  been  growing  apace.  Carr 
had  seized  every  available  opportunity  that  he  could  snatch 
from  his  busy  life  to  see  Miss  Vipart:  and  Fabia  had  made 
such  opportunities  as  easy  and  as  frequent  as  she  could.  But 
the  two  regarded  their  friendship  for  each  other  from  en- 
tirely opposite  points  of  view.  To  Fabia,  Gabriel  was 
merely  a  man  who  attracted  her,  and  whom,  womanlike,  she 
meant  to  subjugate:  to  Gabriel,  Fabia  was  the  only  woman 
in  the  world. 

His  life  had  been  so  busy  and  his  mind  so  absorbed  in 
his  work,  that  he  had  hitherto  given  but  little  attention  to 
women  and  their  ways.  He  had  dealt  with  their  souls  to 
the  best  of  his  ability,  but  had  not  concerned  himself  much 
about  their  hearts:  he  was  intent  upon  preparing  them 
wholesale  for  a  home  in  Heaven,  but  it  had  never  yet  oc- 
curred to  him  to  offer  one  of  them  a  home  on  earth. 

But  when  Fabia  Vipart  came  and  sang  to  him,  then  sud- 
denly the  face  of  the  whole  world  was  changed.  Nothing 
was  as  it  had  been  before.  For  him  there  were  new 
heavens  and  a  new  earth:  fresh  flowers  bloomed  around  his 
feet — unknown  stars  disclosed  themselves  to  his  view.  She 
seemed  to  touch  his  whole  life  as  with  a  fairy  wand,  and  to 
turn  the  dreariest  pathways  into  streets  of  gold. 

They  had  talked  much  to  each  other,  and  upon  many 
things:  that  is  to  say,  Gabriel  had  talked  and  Fabia  had 
listened,  putting  in  the  necessary  word  here  and  there  to 
show  that  she  understood.  And  in  thus  talking,  Carr  had 

[121] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

revealed  his  inmost  soul  to  Fabia,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
himself — for  it  is  in  talking  to  other  people  about  ourselves, 
that  we,  rather  than  they,  learn  what  manner  of  men  and 
women  we  are.  He  believed  that  Fabia  had  shown  him 
what  she  really  was:  and  he  was  accordingly  grateful  to 
her:  he  did  not  know  that  he  had  shown  himself  what  he 
really  was  by  endeavouring  to  show  the  same  to  her.  "  Know 
thyself  "  is  advice  worthy  of  being  followed :  but  we  rarely 
get  to  know  ourselves  except  by  making  ourselves  known 
to  others:  which  accounts  for  the  fact  that  the  most  reserved 
people  are  as  a  rule  the  people  who  are  the  least  cognisant 
of  their  own  failings  and  excellencies. 

And  Carr  had  also  learnt  a  great  deal  about  Fabia  as 
well  as  about  himself.  He  understood  far  better  than  she 
did  that  her  faults  were  the  outcome  of  circumstances  rather 
than  of  character :  he  knew  that  she  only  wanted  that  master- 
hand,  for  which  at  present  she  was  vaguely  groping,  to 
develop  her  into  as  fine  a  woman  inwardly  as  she  now  was 
outwardly — to  make  her  heart  and  soul  as  admirable  as  her 
mind  and  body.  He  recognised  the  passionate,  fiery,  loving 
nature  at  present  hidden  underneath  the  cold  and  bitter  and 
sarcastic  exterior ;  and  he  knew  that  it  only  needed  the  kiss  of 
the  fairy-prince  to  awaken  the  real  sleeping  beauty  to  life 
and  love. 

But  there  was  one  thing  about  her  which  he  did  not 
understand :  and  that  was  the  absence  of  any  religious  ele- 
ment in  her  nature.  The  naturally  un-religious  woman  is 
very  rare;  but  she  nevertheless  exists.  In  most  women  the 
religious  instinct  is  strongly  developed:  and  it  is  a  good 
thing  for  the  world  in  general  that  this  should  be  so.  But 
there  is  a  minority  who  are  practically  without  this  instinct 
altogether:  and  this  minority  have  to  be  reckoned  with,  and 

[  122] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

their  deficiency  supplied.  The  un-religipus  woman  need 
not  necessarily  develop  into  an  irreligious  one:  in  fact  she  not 
infrequently  proves  herself  precisely  the  contrary:  but  reli- 
gion must  come  to  her  through  the  channels  of  her  other 
attributes,  as  she  has  no  natural  aptitude  for  it:  and  these 
channels  are  usually  found  in  her  love  for  some  good  man 
or  woman,  who  becomes  to  her  a  messenger  of  the  gospel 
of  peace. 

Milton's  Eve  was  a  woman  of  this  kind,  or  he  could 
never  have  written  the  line,  "  He  for  God  only,  she  for 
God  in  him."  The  naturally  religious  woman  loves  her 
husband  because  she  loves  God:  the  naturally  un-religious 
woman  loves  God  because  she  loves  her  husband.  The 
modes  may  be  different,  but  the  final  results  are  the  same. 

But  it  is  difficult  for  any  man  to  realise  that  there  may 
be  a  woman  without  this  instinct  altogether:  and  Gabriel 
made  this  mistake  in  his  estimate  of  Fabia's  character.  He 
had  discovered  upon  further  acquaintance  that  she  was  not 
as  absolutely  perfect  as  he  had  believed  her  to  be  when  first 
he  heard  her  sing:  and  he  had  also  discovered  that  she  was 
a  far  finer  character  than  other  people — than  even  she  her- 
self— gave  her  credit  for  being:  but  he  failed  to  understand 
the  simple  Paganism  of  her  nature — he  had  no  idea  how 
utterly  she  was  lacking  in  the  religious  element. 

For  some  time  he  was  torn  asunder  between  his  love  for 
her  and  his  devotion  to  his  work.  Then  gradually  he  came 
to  believe  that  the  two  passions  were  not,  as  he  had  at  first 
assumed,  opposed  to  each  other — that  a  wife  would  help 
rather  than  hinder  him  in  following  his  sacred  calling.  How 
Fabia's  great  gifts  rightly  dedicated,  would  aid  in  the  great 
work  of  saving  men's  souls  and  bringing  them  to  God,  he 
thought:  how  the  influence  of  her  face  and  her  voice  would 

[  123  ] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

brighten  the  lives  of  many  committed  to  his  charge:  and 
how  the  comfort  and  happiness  of  her  love  and  ".om- 
panionship  would  refresh  and  strengthen  him  for  the  ful- 
filment of  the  most  strenuous  and  arduous  duties  that  he 
could  ever  be  called  upon  to  undertake! 

As  this  idea  took  possession  of  him,  Gabriel's  heart  was 
filled  with  a  great  joy:  and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  ask 
Fabia  to  be  his  wife  as  soon  as  he  thought  she  had  known 
himself  and  his  sphere  of  labour  long  enough  to  be  able 
to  make  a  wise  decision.  He  was  fully  aware  that  the  lot 
he  was  about  to  offer  to  her  was  no  bed  of  roses:  but  he 
was  also  aware  that  it  was  not  in  the  vapid  amusements  of 
a  life  of  pleasure  and  gaiety  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  such 
a  soul  as  hers.  He  had  learnt  that  she  was  not  as  perfect 
as  he  had  at  first  believed  her  to  be:  but  he  had  also  learnt 
that  there  were  possibilities  of  perfection  in  her — as  indeed 
there  are  in  everybody,  although  some  of  us  are  quick  to  hide 
them  in  ourselves,  and  slow  to  discover  them  in  others. 
Nevertheless  in  every  man  and  every  woman  there  is  the 
germ  of  perfection  which  some  day — though  neither  here 
nor  now — shall  develop  into  absolute  fulfilment:  for  God 
made  man  in  His  own  image  and  if  man  could  ever  finally 
destroy  the  image  in  which  he  was  made,  then  would  he 
prove  himself  greater  than  his  Maker. 

It  was  an  intense  joy  to  Gabriel  to  find  that  Fabia  and 
he  would  spend  Whitsuntide  at  Vernacre  together.  But 
keen  as  the  temptation  was,  he  would  not  have  accepted  Lord 
Wrexham's  invitation  to  leave  his  church  and  parish  at  one 
of  the  great  festivals  of  the  Christian  year,  had  not  his 
doctor  told  him  that  he  had  been  working  too  hard  of  late 
and  must  make  up  his  mind  either  to  take  a  short  holiday, 
or  to  have  a  long — perhaps  a  permanent — one  forced  upon 

[I24] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

him  later  on.  So  Carr  chose  the  lesser  evil,  and  went  away 
from  London. 

When  first  he  left  town  he  went  for  a  week  or  two  to 
Gaythorne  Manor;  then  he  came  for  Whitsuntide  to  Verna- 
cre;  and  after  that  he  was  going  to  stay  with  his  mother 
for  a  month  or  two  to  complete,  as  he  hoped,  his  cure.  But 
the  fact  that  he  was  overdone  and  out  of  health  made  him 
turn  to  Fabia,  and  to  all  that  she  represented,  with  increased 
eagerness.  He  had  never  before  realised  how  much  he 
missed  the  feminine  element  in  his  life  and  lot.  Until  now 
he  had  believed  his  work  all-sufficing.  In  health  Gabriel 
the  priest  had  ever  been  stronger  than  Gabriel  the  man :  but 
who  shall  blame  him  if  in  sickness  the  more  human  part  of 
his  nature  came  to  the  front — the  longing  for  love  and 
tenderness  and  domestic  bliss  ? 

On  that  Sunday  afternoon  he  and  Fabia  were  sitting 
together  in  a  secluded  part  of  the  garden;  and  he  was  very 
happy.  In  his  need  for  human  care  and  sympathy,  he  gave 
Fabia  credit  for  qualities  which  she  did  not  possess.  In 
the  nature  of  most  women  pity  is  very  closely  akin  to  love; 
the  moment  they  begin  to  feel  sorry  for  a  man — to  realise 
that  it  is  in  their  power  to  help  and  comfort  him — it  is  all 
up  with  them:  their  hearts  have  already  passed  out  of  their 
own  keeping.  Perhaps  they  never  love  a  man  so  much  as 
when  he  has  taken  some  remedy  which  they  have  prescribed, 
and  is  all  the  better  for  it.  A  husband  who  swallows  his 
wife's  remedies,  and  recovers  in  consequence  (or  in  spite) 
of  them,  is  the  kind  of  husband  who  is  most  dearly 
beloved. 

But  with  the  woman  whose  soul  cries  out  for  a  master 
rather  than  for  a  mate,  this  is  not  so.  It  is  strength  that 
appeals  most  forcibly  to  her — not  weakness:  and  the  less 

[125] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

strong  is  a  man,  either  physically  or  mentally,  the  less  power- 
ful is  his  appeal  to  her  heart  and  sympathies.  She  would 
be  his  devotee  rather  than  his  doctor — his  worshipper  rather 
than  his  nurse. 

"  Miss  Vipart,"  Gabriel  began,  "  I  have  something  to 
say  to  you:  something  which  is  of  vital  importance  to  me, 
and  which  I  have  been  wanting  to  say  for  a  long  time." 

"Then  why  have  you  been  a  long  time  in  saying  it?" 
The  question  certainly  was  pertinent. 

"  Because,  though  I  wanted  to  say  it,  I  was  not  at  all 
sure  that  you  wanted  to  hear  it." 

"  Ah  ?  "  Fabia's  expressed  answer  was  monosyllabic,  but 
her  understood  one  was  quite  the  reverse:  there  was  a  com- 
plete string  of  notes-of-interrogation  in  her  beautiful  eyes 
at  that  moment.  She  possessed  to  perfection  the  charm  of 
looking  interested  when  a  man  was  talking  to  her:  and  per- 
haps that  is  the  greatest  charm  that  any  woman  can  have. 
It  is  the  women  who  can  listen  that  are  the  attractive 
women — at  any  rate  to  the  opposite  sex.  They  can  talk 
as  well,  if  they  like — just  enough  at  any  rate  gracefully  to 
fill  up  the  interstices  in  the  conversation  while  the  man  is 
preparing  his  next  remark:  but  above  all  things  they  must 
be  adepts  in  the  art  of  listening,  if  they  wish  to  belong  to 
that  fascinating  sisterhood  who  are  colloquially  described 
as  "  men's  women."  After  all — if  we  are  to  be  perfectly 
candid  with  ourselves — which  of  us  goes  into  society  to  listen 
to  what  other  people  have  to  say,  except  in  so  far  as  it  sug- 
gests to  us  what  to  say  next  ?  Who  wants  to  hear  about  the 
funny  sayings  of  some  other  man's  child,  except  as  a  prologue 
to  the  recital  of  the  far  apter  and  wittier  remarks  uttered 
by  our  own  more  interesting  and  intelligent  offspring?  We 
go  into  society  not  to  listen  but  to  talk:  though  we  are  pre- 

[126] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

pared  to  play  the  game  and  to  listen — or  at  any  rate  to 
keep  silence — while  the  other  person  is  having  his  turn; 
provided  always  that  his  turn  does  not  last  too  long.  But 
there  are  some  people  who  allow  it  always  to  be  our  turn: 
and  how  popular — how  deservedly  popular  such  people  are! 
Of  which  deserving  community  was  Miss  Vipart. 

Encouraged  by  the  notes  of  interrogation  in  his  compan- 
ion's eyes,  Gabriel  continued :  "  During  the  last  few  weeks 
a  great  change  has  come  into  my  life.  I  have  learnt  for  the 
first  time  all  that  a  woman  can  be  to  a  man,  both  as  a  help 
and  an  inspiration.  I  have  learnt  how  she  can  strengthen 
him  when  he  is  weak,  and  uphold  him  when  he  is  strong: 
how  she  can  heal  him  when  he  is  sick,  and  comfort  him  when 
he  is  sorrowful.  In  short,  how  she  can  be  to  him  all  that 
God  meant  her  to  be  when  He  created  her  as  an  helpmeet 
for  man." 

"And  who  has  taught  you  all  this,  Mr.  Carr?"  Fabia 
knew  all  the  moves  of  the  game. 

"  You ;  no  one  but  you !  When  first  I  heard  you  sing,  I 
had  a  faint  glimmering  of  all  that  you  could  be  to  me  if 
you  cared;  and  every  time  that  I  have  seen  you  since,  this 
truth  has  grown  brighter  and  clearer.  So  now,  my  beloved, 
I  come  to  ask  you  the  greatest  of  all  favours  that  a  man  can 
ask  of  a  woman — I  ask  you  to  be  my  wife." 

Fabia  hesitated.  She  did  not  love  the  man:  she  knew 
that  she  did  not:  but  he  looked  so  handsome  as  he  proffered 
his  impassioned  appeal  that  his  beauty  was  almost  irresisti- 
ble to  her.  And  then  she  wanted  to  be  married  to  an 
Englishman;  to  have  an  assured  position  of  her  own.  He 
was  poor,  but  what  of  that?  She  had  money  enough  and 
to  spare  for  both.  And  although  she  did  not  love  him,  she 
was  nearer  to  loving  him  than  she  had  ever  been  to  loving 

[ 


THE    SUBJECTION 

any  man  yet — as  near,  in  fact,  as  she  believed  it  was  in  her 
nature  to  be.  And  he  was  so  very  goodly  to  look  upon ! 

"  Fabia,  my  darling,  I  am  waiting  for  your  answer."  And 
his  voice,  as  he  spoke  to  her,  was  as  beautiful  as  his  face. 
"  I  believe  that  I  could  make  you  happy :  and  I  know  that 
you  could  make  me  more  absolutely  blissful  than  it  has  ever 
yet  been  any  man's  lot  to  be." 

Still  Fabia  was  silent:  and  no  sound  broke  the  stillness 
save  the  hum  of  summer  in  the  air. 

"  My  beloved,  won't  you  speak  to  me,  and  tell  me  that 
at  any  rate  I  may  hope  ?  "  urged  the  man,  after  an  inter- 
minable pause. 

Then  Fabia  spoke.  "  Yes,  I  will  marry  you,"  she  said ; 
"  but  only  on  one  condition."  And  she  had  not  the  faintest 
idea  that  her  condition  was  in  any  way  a  hard  one.  In  fact 
she  considered  that  it  would  be  to  Gabriel's  advantage  as 
much  as  to  hers. 

"  And  what  is  that,  my  dearest  ?  Though  whatever  it  is, 
it  is  already  granted."  And  he  stretched  out  both  arms  to 
her  in  passionate  longing. 

"  I  will  marry  you  on  condition  that  you  will  give  up 
being  a  clergyman,  and  come  abroad  with  me.  There  is  no 
need  for  you  to  work,  as  I  have  plenty  of  money;  and  be- 
sides you  are  not  strong  enough  for  it.  We  will  say  farewell 
to  England  for  a  time  and  travel  everywhere,  and  see  the 
world  together,  you  and  I."  She  really  felt  that  she  could 
not  endure  the  lot  of  a  clergyman's  wife  in  an  East  End 
parish;  and  she  did  not  see  why  she  should. 

The  outstretched  arms  fell  limply  to  his  sides.  He  could 
not  believe  that  he  had  heard  aright.  "What?  Give  up 
my  Orders?  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean." 

But  Fabia  continued  unabashed,  thinking  that  she  was 

[128] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

asking  but  a  very  little  thing.  "  I  only  mean  that  you  must 
give  up  your  work,  and  live  to  enjoy  yourself  and  to  see  the 
world.  There  is  so  much  to  be  seen,  and  so  little  time  to 
see  it  in;  and  most  people  have  either  not  the  time  or 
the  money  to  see  it  at  all.  But  you  and  I  will  have  both  the 
time  and  the  money;  and  there  is  nothing  that  we  will  not 
see.  We  will  wander  about  at  our  own  sweet  will,  and  will 
pry  into  all  the  secret  places  of  the  earth :  we  will  turn  our 
backs  upon  this  provincial  English  ignorance,  and  will  be  as 
gods  knowing  good  and  evil." 

She  spoke  with  unusual  animation,  for  the  picture  she  was 
drawing  of  their  future  life  together  fascinated  her;  and  the 
more  she  thought  of  it  the  more  certain  she  felt  that  this  was 
the  lot  which  could  make  her  happy:  far  happier  than  any- 
thing which  Charlie  Gaythorne  had  to  offer.  There  was  a 
nomadic  strain  in  her  blood — a  longing  for  the  wild  free- 
dom of  desert  places — and  the  mere  thought  of  the  home- 
staying  existence  of  the  Gaythornes  of  Gaythorne  fairly 
suffocated  her. 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on,  "  there  is  nothing  that  shall  come 
between  us  and  the  fulfilment  of  our  desires.  Whatever 
we  wish  to  do,  that  we  will  do.  We  will  have  no  dreary 
English  estate,  with  its  tenants  and  its  responsibilities,  always 
dragging  at  our  heels,  but — like  Bacon — we  will  take  all 
Nature  for  our  province.  Truly  we  will  see  the  world. 
And  then,  when  we  have  seen  all  that  there  is  to  be  seen 
and  are  growing  old  and  weary,  we  will  settle  down  in  some 
southern  place,  as  beautiful  as  a  dream,  and  will  drowse 
away  the  remainder  of  our  days  in  the  sunshine." 

Thus  she  spoke,  carried  away  by  the  vision  that  her  own 
words  conjured  up,  and  intoxicated  by  the  thought  of  her 
coming  happiness:  and  as  he  listened,  Gabriel's  love  for  her 

[  129  ] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

fell  dead  at  his  feet,  slain  by  her  own  hand.  The  intrinsic 
royalty  of  his  priesthood  rose  up  in  his  soul,  and  spurned  the 
base  suggestion  that  had  just  been  made  to  him:  Gabriel 
the  man  was  merged  in  Gabriel  the  priest.  His  love  for  the 
woman  was  extinguished  in  his  scorn  for  the  blasphemer  who 
had  thus  dared  to  lay  profane  hands  upon  the  very  Ark  of 
God.  In  his  eyes  they  had  ceased  to  be  man  and  woman ; 
she  was  but  the  sacrilegious  person  who  had  defiled  the  Holy 
Place,  and  he  was  the  judge  and  the  avenger.  She  had 
tampered  with  that  which  was  dearer  to  him  than  life  itself, 
the  sanctity  of  his  priesthood:  and  in  so  doing  had  placed 
herself  for  ever,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned,  beyond  the  pale. 

"  Fabia,"  he  cried,  "  do  you  know  what  you  are  saying? 
You  tempt  me  to  commit  the  unpardonable  sin  as  glibly 
as  you  would  ask  me  to  walk  across  the  lawn.  You  have 
insulted  me  and  defied  the  God  Whom  I  serve;  all  is  over 
for  ever  between  us.  If  you  repent,  I  cannot  deny  you 
absolution  as  a  priest:  but  I  will  never  more  grant  you 
friendship  as  a  man."  And  he  turned  on  his  heel  and 
left  her. 

Fabia  sat  still  for  a  minute  as  one  stunned.  It  was  all 
so  strange,  so  unexpected.  But,  with  her  usual  quickness 
of  perception,  she  at  once  realised  what  she  had  done.  She 
knew  that  she  had  offended  Gabriel  past  any  possibility  of 
reconciliation — that  all  was  over  between  them.  And  she 
also  knew  that  when  the  priest  in  him  rose  up  and  made 
him  more  than  man,  he  was  for  the  first  time  stronger  than 
she  and  was  her  master;  and  that  at  that  moment  she  had 
learned  to  love  him. 

Just  as  she  made  this  all-important  and  most  disconcerting 
discovery,  who  should  come  sauntering  up  but  Charlie  Gay- 
thorne,  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth  and  a  proposal  in  his  eye. 

[  130] 


OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

No  sooner  did  he  espy  the  vacant  place  at  Fabia's  side  than 
he  flung  his  cigar  and  his  caution  alike  to  the  winds,  and  set 
to  work  with  all  the  dogged  determination  of  an  English- 
man and  a  soldier.  He  succinctly  and  tersely  conveyed  to 
Fabia's  mind  the  importance  of  the  compliment  she  was 
going  to  receive  and  for  which  she  had  every  reason  to  be 
truly  thankful.  Charlie  was  not  much  of  a  talker  as  a  rule : 
but  when  he  had  anything  to  say,  he  said  it — and  this  hap- 
pened to  be  one  of  those  rare  occasions.  With  regard  to 
their  respective  social  positions  he  extenuated  nothing  nor 
set  down  aught  in  malice:  he  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman 
either  to  brag  about  his  own  advantages  or  to  underrate  hers : 
but  he  was  also  far  too  simple  and  transparent  to  hide  from 
Fabia  what  a  magnificent  opening  he  considered  it  for  any 
woman  to  be  invited  to  succeed  his  august  parent  as  mis- 
tress of  Gaythorne  Manor.  And,  strange  to  say,  it  was  this 
very  argument — which  at  another  time  would  only  have 
roused  Fabia's  wrath  and  scorn — that  on  this  particular 
occasion  won  the  day.  She  could  see  what  a  grand  thing 
Charlie  thought  it  was  to  be  Mrs.  Gaythorne — she  knew 
that  Charlie's  world  looked  at  things  very  much  from 
Charlie's  point  of  view — and  she  wanted  to  do  something 
that  would  win  for  her  the  respect  of  other  people  and 
restore  to  her  her  own.  She  was  feeling  hurt  and  lonely: 
and  there  is  no  atmosphere  so  conducive  to  the  acceptance 
of  offers  of  marriage  as  the  atmosphere  of  pained  desolation. 
Gabriel's  rebuff  had  left  her  sore  and  wounded  to  the  death ; 
and  she  felt  that  she  could  not  go  on  living  unless  some- 
thing were  done  to  bring  her  wounded  spirit  ease.  And  this 
seemed  the  very  thing  that  was  needed.  As  Charlie's  wife 
she  would  have  an  assured  position  and  a  devoted  husband 
— the  two  finest  supporters  possible  for  a  female  coat  of 

[131] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

arms.  True,  she  did  not  love  him,  and  she  did  love  Gabriel : 
but  she  was  clever  enough  to  know  when  a  thing  was  beyond 
her  reach  (wherein  she  was  superior  to  the  majority  of  her 
sex)  :  and  too  clever  to  waste  her  time  in  striving  to  attain 
the  unattainable.  Gabriel  would  never  marry  her  now: 
Charlie  would:  so  she  decided  to  marry  Charlie. 

Charlie  of  course  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight. 
It  never  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  anything  or  anybody 
but  himself  to  thank  for  the  success  of  his  wooing.  He  had 
not  yet  learnt  that  in  many  cases  it  is  the  hour  rather  than 
the  man  that  is  responsible  for  a  woman's  Yes.  If  a 
suitor  will  only  time  his  opportunity  correctly,  he  can  gener- 
ally ensure  the  advantage  (or  disadvantage)  of  being  ac- 
cepted. 

Gabriel,  meanwhile,  was  engaged  in  a  sore  struggle  with 
himself.  True,  his  love  for  Fabia  fell  dead  on  the  spot, 
when  she  trampled  upon  his  highest  ideals  and  his  most 
sacred  beliefs  by  asking  him  to  renounce  his  Orders  for  her 
sake:  but  love,  even  when  dead,  is  not  obliterated,  but  still 
requires  decent  burial  and  a  suitable  period  of  mourning. 

Carr's  first  impulse  was  to  go  right  away  from  Vernacre 
and  never  to  look  upon  Fabia's  face  again:  but  reflection 
showed  him  that  such  a  course — though  the  most  comfortable 
as  far  as  he  was  concerned — would  be  most  uncomfortable  for 
everybody  else  and  would  therefore  partake  of  the  nature 
of  selfishness:  and  Gabriel  had  too  much  of  the  true  woman 
in  his  character  ever  to  be  guilty  of  selfishness  in  any  form. 
He  knew  that  it  would  upset  things  generally — and  most 
especially  his  host,  who  was  a  regular  old  bachelor  with 
regard  to  the  inviolability  of  even  the  smallest  plan — if  a 
guest  who  had  arranged  to  stay  until  Tuesday,  fled  inconti- 
nently upon  Sunday  afternoon:  and  Gabriel — always  more 

[  132] 


OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

ready  to  consider  others  than  himself — decided  to  spare 
Lord  Wrexham  this  avoidable  agony.  Moreover,  he  felt 
that  by  making  his  speedy  escape  from  the  scene  of  his  disap- 
pointment and  disillusion,  he  would  put  both  himself  and 
Fabia  in  a  false  position:  so  he  decided  to  bury  his  own 
suffering  out  of  sight,  and  to  behave — as  far  as  in  him  lay — 
for  the  rest  of  his  visit  to  Vernacre  as  if  nothing  had 
happened,  in  order  that  other  people  should  not  be  made 
uncomfortable  by  his  distress.  Wherein  he  showed  him- 
self both  a  woman  and  a  gentleman:  a  most  admirable  if 
rare  combination. 


[  133] 


GABRIEL    THE    PASTOR 

ON  the  following  day  as  soon  as  lunch  was  over,  and  the 
company  had  variously  distributed  themselves  as  they  thought 
fit,  Isabel  Seaton  and  Gabriel  Carr  went  for  a  walk  to- 
gether. They  were  great  friends — and  had  been  so  ever 
since  they  first  met,  not  long  after  Isabel's  marriage — and 
each  enjoyed  a  talk  with  the  other  after  the  fashion  of  iron 
sharpening  iron.  They  passed  out  of  the  garden  and  into 
the  park,  and  then  began  the  ascent  of  a  grassy  hill  which 
culminated  in  the  finest  view  in  the  county ;  and  as  they  went 
they  talked  by  the  way. 

It  was  a  glorious  afternoon;  one  of  those  perfect  days 
of  early  summer  when  the  world  is  ablaze  with  colour. 
Every  tree  of  the  field  had  a  particular  green  of  its  own, 
unlike  the  green  of  any  of  its  fellows;  and  the  banks  were 
carpeted  with  flowers. 

"  Has  it  ever  struck  you,"  asked  Gabriel,  "  that  summer 
is  the  carnival  of  colour,  as  winter  is  the  carnival  of  form? 
If  you  love  colour,  you  will  prefer  the  summer  woods;  but 
if  form  appeals  to  you,  you  will  revel  in  the  leafless  trees." 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  it  never  did ;  but  now  you  mention 
it,  I  feel  as  if  the  idea  were  my  own.  And  this  further 
explains  why  I  like  summer  so  much  better  than  winter; 
for  the  same  reason  that  I  spend  hours  among  the  pictures 
in  the  Academy  and  only  minutes  among  the  sculpture;  I 

[134] 


THE    SUBJECTION   OF    ISABEL    CARNABY. 

love  colour  and  don't  care  for  form.  Everything  has  a 
colour  to  me — even  sounds." 

Gabriel's  face  was  filled  with  interest:  he  loved  new  ideas; 
and,  failing  them,  he  liked  to  find  new  garments  for  old 
ones,  as  he  had  learnt  the  cramping  effects  of  stereotyped 
forms.  "  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  It  is  rather  difficult  to  explain ;  but  I  seem  unconsciously 
to  translate  sound  into  colour  before  I  can  understand  it. 
For  instance,  to  me  all  the  vowel  sounds  are  represented 
by  different  colours." 

"  How  very  interesting!     What  colour  is  A?" 

"  A  is  green,  and  E  is  blue,  and  I  is  white,  and  O  is 
orange,  and  U  is  purple." 

"  And  what  about  W  and  Y?  Haven't  they  got  colours 
also?" 

"Oh!  yes;  of  course  they  have.  ,W  is  red  and  Y  is 
yellow." 

"  And  why  did  you  choose  these  particular  colours  for 
the  vowel  sounds  ?  "  asked  Cam 

"  There  is  no  why  or  wherefore,  and  I  didn't  choose  them 
at  all.  To  me  A  is  green  and  E  is  blue,  just  as  the  grass 
is  green  and  the  sky  is  blue;  there  is  no  choice  or  reason 
in  the  matter.  It  is  simply  how  they  appear  to  me." 

"  Have  other  sounds  colour  to  you  also?" 

"  Yes ;  voices  have.  Soprano  voices  are  pale  blue  or  green 
or  yellow  or  white:  contraltos  are  pink  or  red  or  violet; 
and  tenors  are  different  shades  of  brown;  and  basses  are 
black  or  dark  green  or  navy  blue." 

"Anything  else?  " 

"  Yes,  nearly  everything.  The  days  of  the  week,  for 
instance,  have  different  colours." 

"And  what  are  they?" 

[135] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

**  Monday  is  green,  and  Tuesday  pink,  and  Wednesday 
blue,  and  Thursday  brown,  and  Friday  purple,  and  Satur- 
day yellow,  and  Sunday  white.  Colour  is  everything  to  me, 
and  everything  to  me  has  colour." 

Carr  looked  at  her  thoughtfully.  "  Yes ;  you  are  the  type 
of  woman  who  would  be  sure  to  love  colour." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  what  is  vivid  appeals  to  you  more  than  what 
is  suggestive;  because  what  is  expressed  touches  you  more 
than  what  is  understood." 

Isabel  tossed  her  head.  "  You  don't  mean  that  altogether 
as  a  compliment." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  yet  certainly  not  as  the  reverse.  I  was 
merely  stating  a  fact,  and  not  drawing  any  deduction  from 
it  either  one  way  or  the  other." 

"  I  see.  You  were  giving  me  the  heads  without  the  appli- 
cation. I  think  I  like  that  sort  of  sermon  best.  Heads 
or  tails — I  mean  heads  or  applications?  I  say  heads,  and 
let  the  applications  take  care  of  themselves." 

"  It  is  the  application  that  will  do  you  the  most  good, 
Mrs.  Seaton." 

"  Very  well,  then.  Here's  for  the  application,  and  I'll 
swallow  it  whole.  '  To  be  well  shaken  before  taken,'  I 
suppose.  I'll  shake  the  head  and  swallow  the  application, 
and  so  all  parties  will  be  satisfied." 

Gabriel  smiled.  "  But  I  have  just  said  that  there  is  no 
application.  You  can't  swallow  what  doesn't  exist." 

"Can't  I  though?  I've  been  swallowing  the  principles 
of  the  extreme  Radical  party  for  years." 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are  rather  disloyal  to  that  section  of  the 
Liberal  party  to  which  your  husband  belongs,"  remon- 
strated Gabriel. 

[136] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

Isabel's  face  grew  grave.  "  I'm  not  really;  I  was  only 
joking;  only  I  see  the  mistakes  into  which  it  is  rushing,  and 
I  want  to  save  it  from  them;  and  most  especially  do  I  want 
to  save  Paul  from  making  of  mistakes  and  the  disappoint- 
ment which  they  bring." 

"Why?" 

Isabel  looked  at  her  companion  with  surprise  that  he 
should  have  wasted  time  and  breath  in  the  asking  of  so 
unnecessary  a  question.  "  Because  I  love  him,  and  there- 
fore wish  to  spare  him  pain." 

"  Pardon  me,  there  is  no  '  therefore  '  in  that  sentence. 
Pain  may  be  good — may  be  necessary — for  a  person;  and  in 
that  case  because  you  loved  him,  you  would  not  wish  to 
spare  him  pain." 

"  But  I  do.     I  hate  Paul  to  be  vexed  about  anything." 

"You  mustn't  spoil  him.  You  are  his  wife;  not  his 
mother.  It  doesn't  do  for  a  wife's  affection  for  her  husband 
to  be  too  maternal:  it  stunts  his  spiritual  growth." 

"  But  a  woman  must  be  maternal  to  somebody."  And 
there  was  that  pathetic  ring  in  Isabel's  voice  which  always 
went  to  Paul's  heart.  Gabriel  heard  it,  and  it  touched  him 
also. 

"  I  know,"  he  answered  very  gently;  "  but  not  to  her  hus- 
band, if  she  will  make  a  man  of  him.  Besides,  it  is  all  the 
wrong  way  about.  The  husband  is  the  head  of  the  wife,  and 
this  is  in  accordance  with  God's  ordinance :  but  we  don't  pet 
our  rulers." 

Isabel's  face  grew  perplexed.  "  Then  do  you  mean  to 
say  that  a  woman  ought  to  obey  her  husband  even  when  she 
knows  better  than  he  does?" 

"  Certainly :  even  when  she  thinks  that  she  knows  better 
than  he  does."  Gabriel  amended  the  sentence. 

[137] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

Isabel  was  quick  to  notice  the  amendment  and  to  resent 
it.  "  But  knowing  better  isn't  merely  a  matter  of  opinion.'' 

"  Pardon  me,  I  think  not  infrequently  it  is.  People  say, 
'  If  I  were  so-and-so  I  should  do  such-and-such  a  thing.' 
So  they  would;  but  that  doesn't  prove  it  would  be  a  better 
or  a  wiser  thing  than  what  so-and-so  is  actually  doing.  It 
would  merely  be  a  different  thing;  that  is  all.  If  I  say 
that  I  know  better  than  you  how  to  do  something,  it  only 
means  that  I  know  better  how  to  do  it  in  my  particular  way. 
It  doesn't  follow  that  my  way  is  any  better  than  yours — or 
even  as  good." 

Isabel  was  unconvinced:  this  was  not  palatable  doctrine 
to  a  woman  who  was  as  sure  of  herself  as  she  was.  But 
the  fact  that  that  doctrine  is  unpalatable  in  no  way  detracts 
from  its  salutariness — frequently  the  reverse. 

"  Can't  you  understand,"  she  persisted,  "  that  if  a  woman 
loves  her  husband,  she  naturally  wants  to  prevent  him  from 
making  mistakes?" 

"  She  can't  do  that :  everybody  must  make  mistakes.  All 
that  she  can  do  is  to  induce  him  to  make  her  mistakes 
instead  of  his  own.  She  won't  make  him  wise;  she  will 
only  substitute  her  particular  brand  of  folly  for  his:  and  for 
the  life  of  me  I  cannot  see  any  great  advantage  in  that.  A 
man  would  far  rather  make  his  own  mistakes  than  any- 
body else's — even  than  of  his  wife's.  His  own  natural  mis- 
takes are  in  drawing  with  the  rest  of  his  character,  and 
assumed  ones  are  not." 

"  Then  you  think  it  is  a  mistake  for  wives  to  interfere 
too  much  in  their  husband's  public  life?  "  Although  Isabel 
might  not  like  Gabriel's  advice,  she  was  sufficiently  just  to 
weigh  it  and  to  give  it  full  consideration.  She  was  always 
an  eminently  reasonable  woman.  At  least  nearly  always. 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

"A  very  great  mistake:  often  a  fatal  mistake."  Carr 
spoke  strongly.  He  was  sore  after  yesterday's  interview 
with  Fabia,  and  filled  with  horror  at  the  mere  idea  of  how 
she — had  she  been  his  wife — would  have  used  her  influence 
to  his  soul's  undoing.  Our  opinions  are  always  tinged  by  our 
experience :  and  the  more  recent  the  experience  the  deeper  the 
tinge. 

"  But  you  wouldn't  object  half  so  much  to  a  husband 
who  tried  to  stop  his  wife  from  making  mistakes,"  said 
Isabel  shrewdly. 

"  That  is  a  totally  different  thing.  I  believe  that  a 
woman's  place  is  to  look  on  and  cheer  and  lighten  and  help 
rather  than  to  dictate  or  do  the  work  herself.  I  always 
think  that  line  of  Charles  Kingsley's,  '  Three  wives  sat  up 
in  the  lighthouse  tower,  trimming  the  lamps  as  the  sun 
went  down,'  conveys  a  very  fair  idea  of  woman's  place  and 
duty.  It  is  a  wife's  place  to  sit  up  aloft  in  the  lighthouse 
tower,  above  the  sordid  cares  and  struggles  of  the  business- 
world,  and  to  trim  the  lights  for  her  husband  so  that 
he  may  be  guided  in  the  right  way,  even  though  his  sun  be 
gone  down:  but  it  is  not  her  place  to  embark  on  the  high 
seas  of  business  or  politics,  and  try  to  steer  his  boat  for 
him." 

Mrs.  Seaton  tossed  her  head,  as  she  always  did  when 
annoyed  or  indignant.  It  was  a  favourite  gesture  of  hers. 
"  Well,  I  don't  see  why  it  should  be  all  right  for  a  man  to 
dictate  to  his  wife,  and  all  wrong  for  a  woman  to  dictate 
to  her  husband.  I  don't  see  why  a  wroman's  advice  to  her 
husband  should  be  a  treasonable  document,  and  a  husband's 
advice  to  his  wife  a  signed  and  sealed  Act  of  Parliament." 

"  Because  God  ordained  it  so.    There  is  no  other  reason." 

Isabel  was  silent:  partly  because  she  did  not  know  exactly 

[  139  ] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

what  to  say,  and  partly  because  she  had  not  much  breath 
with  which  to  say  it,  as  they  had  reached  the  steepest  part  of 
the  hill  just  below  the  summit.  The  two  walked — or  rather 
climbed — on  for  a  few  minutes  without  speaking,  and  then 
they  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  the  whole  glorious 
stretch  of  country  at  their  feet  suddenly  was  revealed  to 
their  view.  It  was  one  of  those  typical  English  landscapes — 
with  green  foregrounds  and  blue  distances,  with  near  wood- 
lands and  distant  hills — which  can  never  be  actually  de- 
scribed to  anyone  who  has  not  seen  them;  and  which  need 
no  description  to  us  who  know  and  love  them,  for  to  us 
they  spell  the  magic  word  home. 

"Isn't  it  magnificent?"  exclaimed  Isabel  after  they  had 
gazed  for  a  few  minutes  in  awestruck  silence.  "  It  fairly 
takes  away  one's  breath — at  least  as  much  of  it  as  the  ascent 
has  left." 

"  It  does:  it  is  a  wonderful  view." 

"  And  so  thoroughly  English,  and  therefore  so  satisfying," 
Isabel  continued.  "  Have  you  ever  noticed  that  foreign 
scenery,  however  beautiful  and  magnificent,  leaves  you  with 
a  restless,  hungry  sort  of  feeling;  but  that  a  perfect 
English  landscape  such  as  this,  seems  to  soak  into  every 
little  crevice  of  your  soul,  and  make  you  quite  peaceful  and 
content?  " 

"  I  have:  I  know  exactly  what  you  mean.  It  is  an  older 
sort  of  feeling  than  the  other,  but  much  more  comfortable." 

"  Older  sorts  of  feeling  are  generally  the  most  comfort- 
able," said  Isabel  sagely.  "  When  you  are  young,  you  are  so 
anxious  to  see  what  is  going  to  happen,  that  you  skip  the 
book  of  daily  life  in  order  to  get  on  with  the  story:  but 
as  you  get  older,  you  think  more  of  the  style  and  the 
characters  and  the  dialogue  than  of  the  plot;  and  so  you 

[140] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

are  better  able  to  enjoy  and  appreciate  the  work  as  a 
whole." 

Again  the  two  friends  were  silent,  dwelling  on  the  beauty 
of  the  scene  before  them.  Gabriel  took  off  his  hat,  and 
let  the  soft  breeze  cool  his  forehead;  and  as  he  did  so,  the 
misery  which  Fabia  had  brought  upon  him  faded  away  like 
a  mist,  and  once  more  he  saw  plain.  But  his  companion's 
eyes  grew  grave,  and  there  was  a  pathetic  droop  at  the 
corner  of  her  mouth. 

"  Isn't  it  funny,"  she  suddenly  remarked,  "  that  there  is 
always  something  rather  sad  about  the  top  of  a  hill  ?  As 
long  as  you  are  climbing,  you  are  full  of  joy  and  energy 
and  hope:  but  when  you  get  to  the  top  everything  changes, 
and  you  almost  wish  the  hill  had  been  a  bit  higher  so  that 
you  might  still  be  on  the  climb.  It  is  the  same  with  every- 
thing. We  envy  the  people  who  have  '  arrived,'  and  who 
have  attained  the  summit  of  their  respective  ambitions;  yet 
if  we  were  wise  in  our  envying  and  directed  it  judiciously, 
we  should  rather  envy  those  who  are  still  swarming  up 
the  slopes.  Hill-tops  on  the  whole  are  rather  sorrowful 
places."  And  Isabel  sighed. 

"  A  somewhat  pessimistic  doctrine,  Mrs.  Seaton,  to  be 
enunciated  by  one  of  the  most  popular  and  successful  women 
in  London !  "  said  Gabriel  with  a  smile. 

"  Nevertheless  a  true  one." 

"  I  think  not." 

Isabel  raised  her  eyebrows.  She  had  a  great  theory  that 
it  was  the  duty  of  the  clergy  to  offer  ample  advice  to  the 
laity  on  all  questions  moral  and  spiritual:  that  a  clergyman 
was  a  specialist  in  spiritual  matters,  just  as  a  doctor  was  a 
specialist  in  physical  ones:  nevertheless  she  was  always 
slightly  ruffled  when  the  ghostly  counsel,  which  she  so  freely 

[HI] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

sought,  did  not  altogether  tally  with  her  own  preconceived 
notions  on  any  subject.  Wherein  she  was  distinctly  femi- 
nine, both  in  her  longing  for  priestly  assistance  and  her 
rejection  of  it  when  found. 

"  Well,  anyhow  S.  Paul  agreed  with  me,"  she  retorted : 
"  he  particularly  mentions  that  he  was  always  pressing  for- 
ward and  had  never  attained."  She  felt  that  this  was  a 
clinching  argument  and  that  an  alliance  between  the  Apos- 
tle of  the  Gentiles  and  Mrs.  Seaton  formed  an  authority 
which  few  theologians  would  dare  to  dispute.  "  And  surely 
you'll  admit  that  S.  Paul  was  a  past  master  in  the  art  of 
contentment  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Gabriel.  "  And  why  was  he  con- 
tent?" 

"  Because  he  hadn't  reached  the  top  of  the  hill."  There 
was  triumph  as  well  as  finality  in  Mrs.  Seaton's  tone. 

"  Pardon  me :  he  had  reached  the  top  of  a  good  many 
hills.  But  he  had  learnt  what  you  apparently  forget,  Mrs. 
Seaton;  namely,  that  when  we  have  gained  the  summit  of 
one  hill,  there  are  always  plenty  of  higher  ones  still  for  us 
to  climb." 

"  Oh !  "  Isabel  had  not  a  good  answer  ready,  so  wisely 
confined  herself  to  the  monosyllable. 

Carr  continued :  "  I  understand  the  feeling  to  which  you 
refer — the  sadness  of  the  hill-tops:  but,  believe  me,  it  is 
an  ignoble  sadness.  It  either  means  that  we  are  too  easily 
satisfied  with  our  achievements  and  have  neither  the  strength 
nor  the  courage  to  persevere:  or  else,  it  means  that  the  hill 
we  have  just  climbed  was  not  worth  the  climbing:  in  which 
case  it  was  a  pity  that  we  ever  wasted  our  time  and  trouble 
on  it  at  all." 

"  I  see.     It  hadn't  occurred  to  me  to  look  at  it  in  that 

[142] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

light,"  Isabel  spoke  slowly.  She  was  always  ready  to  see 
when  she  was  in  the  wrong,  although  it  must  be  admitted 
that  the  sight  was  not  altogether  an  agreeable  one  to  her. 

"  S.  Paul  had  not  only  mastered  the  art  of  content," 
Carr  went  on,  "  but  he  had  also  mastered  as  well  the  art 
of  discontent.  He  knew  how  to  be  abased  as  well  as  how 
to  abound." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right:  but  somehow  that  hill-top  sad- 
ness seemed  to  me  to  be  rather  a  beautiful  and  interesting 
sort  of  thing.  I  quite  piqued  myself  on  it." 

"  You  would  do,"  replied  Gabriel  with  a  smile.  "  Sad- 
ness is  always  beautiful  and  interesting  to  us  as  long  as  we 
are  young  and  have  never  met  it  face  to  face." 

"  It  was  rather  young  of  me,  I  confess !  You  must  admit 
\hat  I  was  old  enough  to  know  better." 

"  Nevertheless  you  didn't  know  better,  Mrs.  Seaton." 

Isabel  as  usual  was  quite  ready  to  laugh  at  herself. 

"  I  think  you  may  take  it  as  an  axiom,"  continued  Carr, 
"  that  when  you  feel  what  you  call  the  sadness  of  the  hill- 
top, the  particular  hill  in  question  was  not  worth  the  climb- 
ing. It  is  a  pretty  fair  test.  The  hills  that  are  worth 
climbing  always  lead  us  on  to  other  hills  that  are  still  more 
worth  climbing;  and  thus  are  formed  the  'great  world's 
altar-stairs,  which  slope  through  darkness  up  to  God.' 
Therefore  there  is  no  time  for  sadness,  and  no  place  for  it 
either." 

"  Yes,  yes :  you  are  right  and  I  was  wrong.  And  after 
all  I'm  rather  glad  that  there  is  no  occasion  for  that  particu- 
lar sort  of  sadness,  though  I  must  admit  I've  rather  enjoyed 
it  at  times.  But  all  sadness  is  really  horrid  underneath, 
however  nice  and  interesting  it  may  appear  on  the  surface: 
isn't  it?" 

[143] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

Gabriel  demurred.  He  was  not  going  to  commit  himself 
to  so  sweeping  a  statement. 

"  My  husband  never  suffers  from  the  hill-top  sadness," 
continued  Isabel :  "  the  moment  he  has  topped  one  hill  he 
is  bounding  off  to  another,  like  a  young  hart.  The  fact 
that  his  hills  are  not  worth  the  climbing  has  no  effect  upon 
him." 

"  Your  husband  is  still  very  young." 

"  I  know  he  is :  much  younger  than  I  am,  though  he  was 
really  born  a  year  and  a  half  earlier." 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"Not  it!  Age  is  a  matter  of  temperament  rather  than 
of  time.  Everybody  is  a  certain  age  by  nature;  and  the 
number  of  years  we  happen  to  have  dwelt  on  this  planet 
is  merely  an  incident  which  is  nobody's  business  but  our 
own.  Nothing  will  make  my  husband  more  than  nineteen, 
however  long  he  lives:  while  I  was  thirty-three  and  a  half 
before  I  left  my  cradle.  You  are  about  five-and-twenty, 
and  always  will  be:  and  Wrexham  has  never  gone  below 
eighty-four  since  he  was  born." 

"  And  what  is  our  dear  Mrs.  Gaythorne?  " 

"  A  good  fifty-five,  with  exuberant  prejudices  keeping  off 
age  on  the  one  hand,  and  misplaced  conviction  staving  off 
youth  on  the  other." 

Gabriel  could  not  fail  to  appreciate  this  description;  he 
knew  Mrs.  Gaythorne  so  well. 

Isabel  went  on,  "  It  is  Paul's  youngness  that  makes 
him  so  ready  to  scale  heights  that  are  not  worth  the 
scaling;  and  my  oldness  that  makes  me  want  to  hold 
him  back." 

Gabriel  looked  at  her  thoughtfully.  This  woman  always 
interested  him,  she  was  so  full  of  contradictions — so  fresh 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

and  so  blase,  so  wise  and  so  thoughtless,  so  gay  and  so 
serious,  all  at  the  same  time.  But  in  spite  of  her  fas- 
cination for  him,  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  administer  to  her 
ghostly  counsel  and  reproof:  and — having  seen  his  duty — 
he  was  not  the  man  to  postpone  it  to  a  more  convenient 
season. 

"  I  think  you  are  wrong  in  trying  to  hold  him  back," 
he  said  quietly. 

Isabel  started.  She  was  not  accustomed  to  being  reproved 
or  found  fault  with,  and  she  did  not  like  it.  But  she  liked 
it  better  than  not  being  talked  about  at  all;  so  she 
continued  the  discussion  with  apparent,  if  not  sincere,  hu- 
mility. "Why  am  I  wrong?  He'd  make  most  awful 
blunders  if  I  didn't." 

"  So  you  have  remarked  before,  and  so  I  still  presume  to 
doubt.  But  even  if  that  is  so,  you  have  no  right  to  hamper 
and  hinder  him." 

"Why  not,  I  should  like  to  know?" 

"  In  the  first  place  because  you  are  his  wife,  and  so  are 
in  subjection  to  him,  and  are  bound  to  obey  and  serve  him 
by  your  own  vow:  and,  in  the  second  place,  because  his 
readiness  to  attempt  the  ascent  of  what  you  consider  un- 
scalable mountains,  shows  that  he  has  more  faith  than  you 
have,  and  so  is  farther  advanced  in  the  spiritual  life." 

Isabel  fairly  gasped.  She  had  decided  to  reverence  her 
husband,  and  was  fully  convinced  that  she  did,  according  to 
the  dictates  of  Holy  Scripture:  but  her  idea  of  reverence 
was  a  combination  of  indulgent  tolerance  with  restrained 
superiority.  It  is  an  idea  which  obtains  among  many  other- 
wise excellent  wives.  "  I  shouldn't  call  it  exactly  faith," 
she  objected. 

"Why  not?    That  is  its  name,"  said  Gabriel. 

[145] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

"  I  see:  and  so  you  call  it  by  it,  just  as  you  call  a  spade 
a  spade,  and  Branson's  Extract  of  Coffee  perfection.  But  I 
should  not  call  it  faith  as  long  as  it  was  only  applied  to 
political  things:  I  should  call  it  faith  if  it  was  applied  to 
religious  things." 

"Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear!  You  are  every  bit  as  bad  as  a 
suburban  tradesman.  I  am  always  trying  in  vain  to  convince 
my  very  respectable  and  superior  parishioners  that  there  are 
no  such  things  as  religious  things.  All  things  are  religious, 
or  else  nothing  is :  there  is  no  middle  course.  Religion  either 
permeates  every  thought  and  act  and  object  of  a  man's 
life,  or  else  it  never  really  touches  anything  in  it  at  all.  I 
hate  the  cant  which  sets  a  boundary  between  what  is  reli- 
gious and  what  is  secular,  so-called:  for  unless  a  man's 
religion  touches  everything  about  him  and  around  him  and 
within  him,  that  man's  religion  is  vain." 

It  was  a  hard  saying :  but  Gabriel  could  be  hard  at  times. 
He  was  no  rose-water  sentimentalist. 

"  The  world  has  no  idea,"  he  went  on  rapidly,  "  of  the 
stupendous  power  of  faith.  Men  say  that  the  age  of  miracles 
is  past,  but  that  is  not  so — it  is  the  age  of  faith  \vhich  makes 
miracles  possible  that  is  past." 

"  Then  do  you  think  that  if  a  man  had  only  faith  enough 
he  could  scale  every  mountain  ?  " 

"  Scale  it  ?  Why  he  could  say  to  it,  Be  thou  removed  and 
cast  into  the  midst  of  the  sea:  and  it  would  be  done.  I 
believe  there  is  nothing  that  a  man  could  not  do  if  only  he 
had  enough  faith — no  miracle  that  he  could  not  perform. 
The  present  age  is  not  an  age  of  faith:  it  is  an  age  of 
charity.  We  build  infirmaries  and  we  endow  hospitals:  but 
we  no  longer  lay  hands  on  the  sick  that  they  may  recover. 
Silver  and  gold  we  have,  and  we  use  it  on  the  whole  bene- 

[146] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

facially:  but  we  no  longer  bid  a  man  take  up  his  bed  and 
walk.  Yet  this  ought  we  to  do,  and  not  to  leave  the  other 
undone." 

"  Do  you  think  that  this  lack  of  faith  is  felt  in  all  the 
Churches?"  asked  Isabel. 

"  I  do.  I  think  that  in  the  present  day  religion  is  to  the 
Roman  a  passion,  to  the  Anglican  a  principle,  and  to  the 
Nonconformist  an  emotion:  but  I  think  that  to  many  of 
them  it  is  not  the  power  of  God  to  salvation — both  of  body 
and  soul — that  it  might  be,  if  there  were  more  faith  on  the 
earth.  Otherwise  we  should  still  have  the  miracles  of  the 
early  Church  and  of  the  Middle-ages  and  of  the  Evangelical 
Revival." 

"  You  are  quite  right :  the  want  of  faith  of  the  present 
day  is  something  dreadful.  It  always  sickens  me  to  hear 
people  talk  as  they  do  of  '  remarkable  answers  to  prayer ' : 
yet  these  people  would  see  nothing  remarkable  at  all  in  an 
answer  to  a  telegram!  It  seems  a  queer  sort  of  belief  that 
strains  at  the  faithfulness  of  God,  and  then  swallows  without 
an  effort  the  infallibility  of  a  telegraph-boy!" 

"  It  does  indeed :  yet  it  is  essentially  the  belief  of  the 
present  day  and  generation." 

The  two  were  walking  down  the  hill  again  by  this 
time,  and  Carr's  face  was  aglow  with  the  enthusiasms  that 
were  stirring  within  him.  It  was  in  matters  spiritual  that 
he  was  always  most  at  home:  the  secular  emotions — such 
as  love,  ambition  and  the  like — though  not  exactly  foreign 
to  his  nature,  were  not  quite  in  perfect  harmony  with  it. 
But  his  companion's  face  was  grave.  She  was  made  of 
slighter  elements  than  he;  and  it  was  the  more  human  and 
personal  side  of  life  that  touched  her  most  closely.  Gabriel 
would  have  made  a  splendid  monk;  but  Isabel  could  never 

[147] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

have  been  anything  but  fifth-rate  as  a  nun.  Therefore  she 
suddenly  harked  back  to  that  point  in  the  conversation 
where  Carr  had  turned  away  from  earth  and  began  to 
soar  heavenward. 

"  You  said,  firstly,  because  I  am  his  wife  and  therefore 
am  in  subjection  to  him,"  she  began :  "  what  did  you  mean 
by  that?" 

With  the  quick  sympathy  and  ready  adaptability  of  the 
man  who  has  been  trained  for  the  priesthood,  Gabriel  fell 
in  with  her  mood  at  once. 

"  I  mean  exactly  what  S.  Peter  meant  when  he  first  said 
it,"  he  replied :  "  neither  more  nor  less.  '  Likewise  ye  wives, 
be  in  subjection  to  your  own  husbands ! '  It  seems  quite 
plain  speaking." 

It  is  the  fashion  nowadays,  in  this  very  enlightened  age,  to 
talk  much  and  not  always  kindly  of  the  faults  and  failings 
of  the  clergy — of  those  peculiarities  which  distinguish  them 
as  a  body  from  their  lay  brethren.  But  what  about  the 
special  virtues  which  are  theirs  by  right  of  their  clerical 
training,  and  in  which  the  laity  are  conspicuously  lacking: 
the  intuition,  the  sympathy,  the  self-repression,  the  self- 
control,  which  we  take  as  a  matter  of  course  in  our  spiritual 
pastors,  but  which  we  frequently  seek  in  vain  in  the  successful 
tradesman  or  the  man  of  affairs?  When  the  enemy  has 
found  occasion  to  blaspheme  and  is  availing  himself  of  the 
same,  it  is  a  favourite  gibe  of  his  to  discover  points  of 
resemblance  between  clergymen  and  women.  And  he  is 
right.  As  a  rule  a  clergyman  more  than  any  other  man 
has  the  power  of  discovering  other  people's  joys  and  sorrows 
and  throwing  himself  into  them,  in  a  way  that  is  popularly 
supposed  to  be  the  prerogative  of  the  weaker  sex.  His 
very  calling  trains  him  to  suppress  his  own  wants  and  wishes 

[148] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

in  attending  to  the  wants  and  wishes  of  his  flock:  just  as  a 
woman  is  trained  to  suppress  her  own  wants  and  wishes  in 
attending  to  the  wants  and  wishes  of  her  family.  The 
ordinary  male  is  not  so  trained:  as  a  rule  other  people  do 
not  bother  him  with  their  troubles,  nor  does  he  bother  them 
with  his;  he  neither  offers  sympathy  nor  demands  it.  He 
is  more  like  a  child  than  a  woman,  possessing  childlike  sim- 
plicity and  straightforwardness  rather  than  feminine  subtlety 
and  intuition. 

Thanks  to  Gabriel's  clerical  training,  he  understood  pretty 
well  what  was  passing  in  his  companion's  mind,  as  she  walked 
beside  him  in  silence  for  a  few  moments.  He  knew  that 
her  sound  common-sense  was  at  war  with  her  husband's 
idealism,  and  that  her  womanly  wilfulness  was  at  variance 
with  her  wifely  submission.  But  he  meant  to  tell  her  the 
truth  when  she  gave  him  an  opportunity;  and  if  she  did  not 
give  him  an  opportunity,  he  meant  to  make  one. 

But  she  did. 

"  Supposing  a  wife  really  knows  better  than  her  husband," 
she  argued,  "  and  that  the  grey  mare  is  a  twenty-four  horse- 
power motor-car;  do  you  think  even  then  she  ought  to  obey 
and  reverence  him  ?  " 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it,  my  dear  Mrs.  Seaton.  Of  course 
she  should  influence  him  to  the  utmost  of  her  ability,  and 
give  him  as  good  advice  as  she  can,  when  he  is  taking  any; 
but  she  must  never  forget  that — by  right  of  his  office — the 
husband  is  the  head  of  the  wife." 

"  Even  if  he  is  an  inferior  article?  " 

"  Certainly.  As  a  churchwoman  you  believe  that  the  un- 
worthiness  of  the  priest  in  no  way  interferes  with  the  efficacy 
of  the  sacraments:  as  a  British  citizen  you  admit  that  the 
personal  character  of  a  judge  in  no  way  affects  the  validity 


THE    SUBJECTION 

of  his  sentences:  and  as  a  wife  you  must  therefore  accept 
the  fact  that  the  faults  and  failings  of  a  man  in  no  way 
obviate  his  prerogative  as  a  husband." 

Isabel  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  You  hold  the  doctrine 
that  the  king  can  do  no  wrong." 

"I  do :  and  I  consider  it  a  very  sound  doctrine,  too.  Of 
course  as  a  man  he  can  do  wrong,  but  as  a  king  he  cannot: 
because  the  king  and  the  priest  and  the  judge  and  the  hus- 
band are  all — in  their  own  way  and  for  the  time  being — 
the  ambassadors  and  representatives  of  God:  and  in  rever- 
encing them  we  reverence  the  Divine  authority  which  is 
for  the  moment  vested  in  them  and  submit  ourselves  to  every 
ordinance  of  man  for  the  Lord's  sake." 

Isabel  looked  up  with  a  glance  of  warm  approbation. 
"  How  nicely  you  put  things!  You  have  such  a  richly  deco- 
rative mind  that  you  make  quite  common  things  seem  posi- 
tively gorgeous." 

"  Do  '  quite  common  things  '  refer  to  kings  or  to  hus- 
bands ?  "  asked  Carr  with  a  smile. 

"  Neither  the  one  nor  the  other  in  particular,  and  roughly 
speaking  both.  But  you  have  a  knack  of  sticking  haloes  on 
to  everything  and  everybody,  and  somehow  transfiguring 
them.  I  never  knew  anyone  like  you  at  the  halo-business, 
except  a  few  occasional  sunsets  and  certain  hymns.  There 
are  some  hymn-tunes  that  have  precisely  the  same  effect  on 
me  that  you  have;  make  me  feel  good  and  glorified  and 
treading  on  air." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it." 

"  Just  now  I  feel  as  if  I  couldn't  wait  another  minute 
without  flying  to  Paul  and  implicitly  obeying  him  in  some- 
thing that  I  know  to  be  utterly  absurd.  At  the  present 
moment  I  could  die  for  a  lost  cause  or  start  a  Woman's 

[150] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

Liberal  Federation  without  turning  a  hair.  I  could  indeed. 
And  all  because  Paul  is  my  husband  and  you've  stuck  a  halo 
on  to  him." 

"  But  I  didn't  make  him  your  husband !  you  will  admit 
that.  I  may  have  arranged  the  halo;  but  it  was  you  who 
agreed  to  the  wearing  of  the  wedding-ring.  There  was  a 
certain  amount  of  free-will  in  the  business  after  all,  Mrs. 
Seaton.  Your  king  may  reign  by  divine  right :  I  believe 
he  does;  but  remember  you  elected  him  yourself  in  the  first 
instance." 

"  So  I  did ;  and  I'm  very  glad  I  did ;  and  if  there  was 
another  election  to-morrow  he'd  still  be  at  the  top  of  the 
poll.  Which  reminds  me  that  we  are  at  the  bottom  of  the 
hill ;  and  I'll  run  and  find  him  and  obey  him  this  very 
minute;  and  tell  him  how  kind  you  have  been  in  fastening 
a  bit  of  string  to  his  halo  for  fear  it  should  get  blown  off 
when  things  are  slightly  breezy.  I  must  say  there  is  a 
danger  of  husbands'  haloes  blowing  off,  if  they  are  not  prop- 
erly fastened  on.  But  now  Paul's  is  secured,  thanks  to  you, 
with  an  elastic  band  under  his  chin,  like  a  little  boy's  hat: 
and,  unless  he  deliberately  takes  it  off,  nothing  can  re- 
move it." 

"  I  have  known  husbands  deliberately  take  them  off," 
said  Gabriel. 

"  So  have  I :  to  some  passing  lady  of  their  acquaintance : 
and  then  the  wives  can't  always  put  them  on  again.  But 
thank  Heaven!  Paul  isn't  that  sort.  If  ever  his  halo  does 
tumble  off,  you  can  be  sure  that  it  is  I  who  have  knocked 
it  off:  it  wouldn't  be  his  fault,  poor  darling!  " 

"  Certainly  it  would  not.  So  be  careful  that  you  never 
do  such  a  thing,  Mrs.  Seaton." 

Isabel   laughed    good-humouredly.      "  Not   I.      It   is   all 

[151] 


THE    SUBJECTION   OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

very  well  for  the  Sergeant-at-Arms  to  call  '  Hats  off  ' !  but 
if  he  begins  calling  '  Haloes  off  ' !  I  shall  protest.  It  would 
never  do  for  my  husband  to  be  without  his  halo:  it  would 
be  so  cold  for  him  and  so  dark  for  me,  and  so  generally 
horrid  all  round !  " 


t'5»] 


CHAPTER   XI 

JANET    FIELD 

WHEN  the  Whitsuntide  party  at  Vernacre  broke  up,  Gabriel 
went  to  complete  his  enforced  holiday  and  regain  his  en- 
feebled strength  at  his  mother's  home,  in  a  small  Midland 
village  about  four  miles  from  Merchester.  It  was  an  ideal 
house  for  a  widow-lady  of  limited  means.  Not  more  than 
a  cottage  in  size  and  design,  but  stamped  all  over  with  the 
indelible  and  indescribable  signs  of  refinement  and  ladyhood. 
The  way  in  which  it  draped  itself  with  creepers  was  modesty 
personified,  and  suggested  all  the  sensitiveness  and  refinement 
which  are  associated  with  flowing  veils  and  lace  shawls.  Its 
windows  were  so  shaded  with  soft  greenery,  that  they  could 
not  properly  lift  their  eyelids  and  face  the  sunshine;  and  its 
chimneys  were  so  clothed  with  the  same,  that  only  the  smoke, 
which  now  and  again  emerged  from  their  half-shut  mouths, 
proclaimed  them  to  be  anything  so  common-place  and  obvious 
as  chimneys  at  all.  Which  things  were  symbolical  of  the 
character  of  the  owner  of  the  cottage,  who  had  never  called 
a  spade  a  spade  nor  looked  a  bare  fact  in  the  face  since  the 
day  she  was  born. 

Eveline  Carr  was  one  of  those  people  who  are  known  in 
their  youth  as  '  lovely  young  creatures,'  and  in  their  later 
life  as  '  sweet  women.'  She  was  tall  and  slight,  with  fair 
hair  and  blue  eyes,  and  a  complexion  that  retained  its  apple- 
blossom  tint  even  until  the  late  autumn  of  life.  She  was 
elegant  rather  than  stylish,  lovable  rather  than  fascinating. 

[153] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

She  was  amiability  incarnate,  and  unselfish  to  the  verge  of 
insipidity:  and  in  fact  possessed  all  the  virtues,  excepting 
strength,  courage  and  a  sense  of  humour.  It  really  would 
have  been  difficult,  even  had  her  friends  and  acquaintances 
been  so  uncharitably  inclined,  to  find  any  actual  fault  in 
Mrs.  Carr's  character:  the  absence  of  certain  excellencies 
was  the  worst  of  which  anyone  could  accuse  her.  That  she 
had  left  undone  sundry  things  which  she  ought  to  have  done, 
was  sufficiently  within  the  range  of  probability  to  entitle 
her  to  take  her  part  in  the  General  Confession:  but  that 
she  had  ever  done  anything  that  she  ought  not  to  have  done, 
was  hardly  credible  to  anyone  who  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of 
Mrs.  Carr's  acquaintance.  Her  mind  was  cultured  and 
refined;  but  it  was  always  enveloped  in  a  soft  haze,  too 
indistinct  to  be  called  a  mist  and  too  intangible  to  be  de- 
scribed as  a  fog.  Her  distinguishing  characteristic  (if  such 
a  term  could  be  applied  to  a  character  where  everything  was 
indistinguishable)  was  vagueness — vagueness  in  thought,  in 
belief  and  in  conversation. 

In  strong  contrast  to  Mrs.  Carr  was  her  adopted  daughter, 
Janet  Field.  Janet  was  no  blood  relation  of  Mrs.  Carr's: 
if  she  had  been,  her  claim  would  have  been  too  obvious  to 
appeal  to  that  excellent  lady.  She  was  the  only  child  of 
a  fellow-officer  of  Eveline's  husband:  her  father  was  killed 
in  action  a  few  months  after  her  birth,  and  her  mother  did 
not  long  survive  him;  and  the  very  fact  that  the  infant  had 
no  claim  whatsoever  upon  Mrs.  Carr's  charity,  was  the 
strongest  claim  that  the  child  could  possibly  have  had.  The 
only  thing  needed  to  clinch  this  appeal,  and  to  make  it  final 
and  irresistible,  was  the  fact  that  the  child  should  be  utterly 
destitute  and  unable  to  repay  Mrs.  Carr  for  any  of 
the  care  and  expense  which  that  good  woman  was  prepared 

[154] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

freely  to  lavish  upon  her:  and  this  recommendation  the  poor 
baby  possessed  to  the  full.  Therefore  Mrs.  Carr — being  her- 
self the  widow  of  a  young  officer  in  very  straitened  circum- 
stances, with  a  boy  of  her  own  to  bring  up  and  educate — saw 
no  reason  why  she  should  not  at  once  apply  for  the  vacant 
post  of  little  Janet  Field's  mother;  and  the  child's  relations 
• — being  ordinary  selfish  human  beings — were  only  too  glad 
to  take  advantage  of  the  pretty  young  widow's  inexperience 
and  impracticability,  and  to  shift  the  expense  and  care  of  the 
child  from  their  shoulders  on  to  hers.  Which  they  promptly 
did;  and  then  washed  their  hands  of  all  further  responsi- 
bility: thereby  resigning  for  ever  in  favour  of  Eveline  Carr 
their  vested  interest  in  all  the  blessings  pertaining  to  the 
great  "  Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  to  one  of  the  least  of  these." 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  Gabriel  Carr  and  Janet  Field 
were  brought  up  as  brother  and  sister,  she  being  a  few  years 
younger  than  he. 

Janet  proved  to  be  a  most  admirable  and  healthy  element 
in  the  Carr  household.  Whilst  Gabriel  was  idealistic  and 
theoretic,  and  his  mother  absolutely  indistinct,  Janet  was  the 
embodiment  of  definite  clearness.  There  was  no  vagueness 
about  her — no  atmosphere  even:  the  lights  and  shadows  in 
her  mind  were  as  clearly  defined  as  the  lights  and  shadows  in 
an  Egyptian  photograph.  Even  the  "grey  matter"  in  her 
brain  could  hardly  have  been  so  indefinite  a  colour  as  grey, 
as  it  is  in  the  case  of  the  rest  of  us:  it  must  really  have  been 
actual  black  and  white,  or  else  it  never  could  have  formed  a 
part  of  Janet. 

Janet  not  only  knew  exactly  what  she  herself  thought 
upon  every  subject  under  the  sun:  she  also  knew  that  hers 
was  the  only  point  of  view  compatible  with  wisdom  and 
honesty :  a  most  comfortable  form  of  knowledge !  She  treated 

[155] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

Mrs.  Carr  with  unwearying  indulgence  and  maternal  solici- 
tude: the  latter  believed  that  she  had  adopted  Janet,  but 
in  reality  Janet  had  adopted  her :  and  she  worshipped  Gabriel 
with  that  absolute  devotion  which  combines  the  love  of  sister 
and  of  wife;  and  which  is  never  felt  save  by  those  who  fall 
in  love  as  women  with  the  men  whom  they  played  with  as 
children. 

In  appearance  Janet  was  by  no  means  as  handsome  as  the 
Carrs:  but  she  was  very  pleasant-looking,  and  not  without 
a  charm  of  her  own.  She  was  under  rather  than  over  the 
medium  height:  and  inclined  to  be  plump  rather  than  slight. 
Her  hair  was  brown,  and  her  eyes  hazel,  and  she  had  a 
bright  pink  colour  in  her  rounded  cheeks. 

It  never  occurred  to  Gabriel  to  fall  in  love  with  her, 
as  she  had  long  ago  fallen  in  love  with  him.  Men  keep  the 
conjugal  and  fraternal  affections  much  farther  apart  than 
women  do.  When  a  man  promises  to  be  a  brother  to  a 
woman,  he  means  to  be  a  brother  to  her — neither  more  nor 
less — with  all  a  brother's  reserves  and  limitations :  but  when 
a  woman  promises  to  be  a  sister  to  a  man — well,  if  she  does 
not  mean  him  to  make  love  to  her,  she  means  something  sin- 
gularly like  it. 

It  was  to  this  little  household  that  Gabriel  came  straight 
from  Vernacre:  and  highly  delighted  were  both  these  loving 
women  to  welcome  him.  They  showed  this  delight  in  their 
"respective  ways:  his  mother  by  putting  vases  of  flowers  on 
his  dressing-table,  which  upset  themselves  and  baptised  him 
with  unclean  water  every  time  that  he  attempted  to  brush 
his  hair;  and  Janet  by  seeing  that  his  bed  was  aired,  and  his 
wardrobe  emptied  of  those  overflow  garments  which  are  so 
apt  to  gather  themselves  together  in  the  spare-room  of  every 
•small  house. 

[156] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  I  don't  think  Gabriel  is  looking  at  all  well,"  Janet 
remarked  to  Mrs.  Carr,  the  first  time  after  his  arrival  that 
he  left  them  together. 

Gabriel's  mother  looked  up  from  her  knitting  with  a 
dreamy  smile.  "Don't  you,  love?  It  hadn't  occurred  to 
me,  as  he  never  has  much  colour,  his  dear  father  having  been 
pale  with  such  chiselled  features,  which  are  the  prerogative 
of  the  Carr  family  and  came  over  with  William  the  Con- 
queror and  settled  there.  A  very  old  family,  and  always 
such  beautifully-shaped  hands.  My  boy  is  wonderfully  like 
his  dear  father,  only  a  clergyman,  the  clerical  dress  making 
a  certain  amount  of  difference  from  uniform,  and  black 
of  course  always  causing  anyone  to  look  paler  than  in 
scarlet." 

"  I  know  that  Gabriel  is  never  rosy :  but  I  am  sure  that 
now  he  looks  paler  and  more  tired  than  usual,"  Janet 
persisted. 

"  No :  my  boy  was  never  ruddy,  though  of  a  fair  counte- 
nance, like  David  and  Goliath  which  I  always  feel  is  Sin, 
and  his  sermons  are  like  the  stones  which  he  put  in  his  sling, 
and  so  fought  against  the  enemy  and  prevailed,  though  I 
cannot  help  thinking  that  a  country-parish  would  be  better 
for  him — especially  in  the  hot  weather.  It  is  so  difficult 
sometimes  to  reconcile  one's  duty  with  what  is  best  for 
one's  health,  like  the  pay  in  the  Indian  army  being  so  much 
bigger  than  at  home,  and  yet  so  hard  to  choose  between 
leaving  one's  husband  alone  in  India  or  one's  children  alone 
in  England.  And  I  never  think  that  female  relations — how- 
ever kind — are  quite  the  same  as  one's  own  mother ;  though 
I  am  sure,  dearest,  I  have  always  tried  to  do  my  duty  by 
you." 

To  live  with  Mrs.  Carr  and  to  listen  to  all  she  said  would 

[157] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

have  made  life  impossible.  Janet  never  attempted  or  pre- 
tended to  do  it. 

"  I  am  sure  he  is  working  much  too  hard,  Aunt  Eveline." 
Mrs.  Carr  was  the  type  of  woman  who  always  insists  on 
being  called  Aunt  by  all  young  persons  not  related  to  her 
by  the  ties  of  kinship. 

"  Do  you  think  so,  dearest?  Still,  after  all,  youth  is  the 
time  for  work,  before  the  night  cometh  when  no  man  can 
work,  or  even  take  a  Canonry  or  a  rural  parish.  I  am  always 
hoping  that  in  fhe  future  my  Gabriel  will  be  given  a  Can- 
onry by  some  of  his  influential  friends,  and  a  sweet  home  in 
some  secluded  close,  if  not  a  rural  parish  with  a  good  stipend 
and  a  substantial  Easter  offering,  and  one  sermon  a  week 
with  the  curate  preaching  the  other,  and  that  not  always 
a  new  one." 

"  It  worried  me  his  taking  that  suburban  place,"  con- 
tinued the  imperturbable  Janet ;  "  it  meant  so  much  strug- 
gling and  working  it  up,  and  he  was  completely  worn  out 
already  by  his  work  in  the  slums.  I  was  always  against 
S.  Etheldreda's,  as  you  know." 

"  Still,  darling,  when  a  distinct  call  conies  it  seems  hardly 
right  to  disregard  it,  since  as  our  day  is  so  shall  our  strength 
be,  even  in  a  town  parish  without  a  curate  and  no  en- 
dowment to  speak  of.  We  must  have  faith  according  to  our 
needs." 

"  And  rich  people  must  have  charity  according  to  their 
means,"  retorted  Janet,  "  or  else  how  can  the  work  of  the 
Church  be  carried  on?  I  always  think  that  the  clergy  of 
the  Church  of  England  are  horribly  underpaid.  Noncon- 
formists would  scorn  to  be  as  stingy  with  their  ministers  as 
we  are  with  ours." 

"  Yes,   dearest,   I  have  heard   that  said  by  quite  clever 

[158] 


OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

people  as  a  proof  of  disestablishment  or  disendowment  or 
something  of  that  kind.  But  to  my  mind  there  is  a  solidity 
about  a  State  Church  which  the  world  cannot  give  nor  take 
away,  even  though  the  stipend  be  inadequate  and  often  such 
large  families.  An  established  Church  seems  to  me  like 
family  prayers  in  a  private  household :  beginning  the  day  with 
an  open  acknowledgement  that  God  is  the  Head  of  every- 
thing, and  regarded  as  such  even  by  the  most  worldly  and 
ambitious." 

"  All  the  same,  Aunt  Eveline,  I  think  that  the  living  of 
S.  Etheldreda's  is  too  hard  work  and  too  little  pay  for 
Gabriel." 

"  Well,  love,  since  you  think  it,  I'll  send  in  to  Merchester 
by  the  carrier  to-morrow,  and  get  him  a  bottle  of  that  tonic 
which  did  me  so  much  good  just  after  dear  Gabriel  was  born. 
I  frequently  take  it  when  I  am  at  all  run  down,  and  find 
it  of  the  greatest  benefit.  A  mixture  of  quinine  and  iron 
for  exhaustion  and  lassitude  in  water  exactly  half-an-hour 
after  food." 

Mrs.  Carr  was  the  type  of  woman  who  usually  relies 
upon  home-made  remedies  for  ordinary  infirmities  of  the 
flesh;  but  who,  in  more  urgent  cases,  will  now  and  again 
meet  the  emergency  by  a  bottle  of  medicine  from  the  chem- 
ist's. To  such  women  the  advent  of  the  doctor  is  on  a 
par  with  the  Commendatory  prayers. 

But  the  wrise  Janet  shook  her  head.  "  Prevention  is  bet- 
ter than  cure,"  she  said :  "  and  it  is  w^iser  to  avoid  being  ill 
at  all,  than  to  cure  yourself  by  taking  medicine." 

"  Of  course,  dear  love,  I  admit  that  a  stitch  in  time 
saves  many  a  bottle  of  doctor's  stuff  and  is  less  upsetting 
to  the  digestion,  many  people  not  being  able  to  assimilate 
iron  without  headache  and  quinine  in  a  liquid  form.  But 

[159] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

for  such  people  there  are  always  pills,  and  so  much  more 
convenient  if  you  are  lunching  or  dining  out." 

"  All  the  same,  I  am  wretched  about  Gabriel.  I  am 
sure  he  isn't  well  and  he  isn't  happy.  I  saw  it  the  moment 
he  entered  the  house."  It  was  not  easy  to  turn  Miss  Field 
from  any  matter  on  which  her  attention  had  alighted. 

"  He  may  not  be  well,  my  darling,  but  I  am  sure  he  is 
happy,  since  happiness  consists  in  the  fulfilment  of  duty 
unhampered  by  domestic  trials;  and  I  know  no  man  who  so 
thoroughly  fulfils  his  duty  as  my  Gabriel  does,  excepting  his 
dear  father  who,  if  he  had  lived,  would  by  now  have 
obtained  his  colonelcy,  given  the  ordinary  flow  of  promotion 
which  is  always  quicker  in  time  of  war.  He  is  very  like 
him:  I  see  it  more  and  more:  being  now  so  much  the  same 
age,  though  slightly  thinner:  and  of  course  the  difference 
in  dress  between  a  soldier  and  a  clergyman,  as  I've  said 
before." 

At  that  moment  the  subject  of  the  ladies'  conversation 
entered  the  room,  and  the  discussion  as  to  his  physical  condi- 
tion had  perforce  to  be  dropped. 

Gabriel  stayed  on  at  his  mother's,  living  out-of-doors  as 
much  as  possible  in  the  bracing  Midland  air:  but  he  did 
not  gain  strength  as  quickly  as  he  had  hoped  and  expected. 
Mrs.  Carr  naturally  did  not  notice  this;  but  no  symptom 
of  his  weakness  and  weariness  was  lost  upon  Janet.  Her 
eagle  eye  penetrated  the  depression  that  he  fain  would  hide: 
and  she  was  not  far  from  guessing  the  cause  of  that  depres- 
sion, although  she  had  no  idea  of  the  name  of  the  woman 
who  had  caused  it. 

"  I  cannot  think  what  has  come  to  me,"  said  Gabriel  to 
her  one  day  as  they  were  walking  in  the  fields  together. 

"  I  can,"  was  the  prompt  reply :  "  you  have  been  doing 

[160] 


OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

too  much  for  years:  and  now  the  bill  has  come  in,  and  you 
have  nothing  to  pay  it  with." 

"  But  I  have  been  doing  God's  work,  not  my  own," 
pleaded  Gabriel. 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  If  you  spend  more 
strength  than  you  have  got,  the  fact  that  you  have  spent 
it  on  God's  work  won't  keep  you  from  breaking  down; 
just  as  if  you  spend  more  money  than  you  have  got,  the 
fact  that  you  have  spent  it  on  charity  won't  prevent  you 
from  becoming  bankrupt." 

Gabriel  sighed.  Janet  was  as  hard  upon  him  as  he  had 
been  upon  Mrs.  Paul  Seaton:  only  in  Janet's  case  he  called 
it  harsh  dealing,  and  in  his  own,  plain  speaking.  The 
pronoun  which  we  place  before  a  verb  makes  all  the  differ- 
ence to  the  verb  we  use.  For  instance,  "  /  speak  the  truth," 
"  You  are  unwarrantably  severe,"  and  "  He  makes  himself 
detestably  disagreeable,"  are  really  in  essence  the  same  verb 
adapted  to  fit  the  various  pronouns. 

"  You've  got  to  use  common-sense  even  in  religion,"  Janet 
went  on,  as  if  she  were  stating  a  paradox. 
"Well,  haven't  I  used  common-sense?" 
"Never:  you've  never  had  an  atom  of  it  to  use." 
Gabriel  could  not  help  laughing.     It  was  an  old  joke 
between  them  that  Janet  had  made  "  a  corner  "  in  the  com- 
mon-sense of  the  little  household.     "  But  I  have  sometimes 
borrowed  yours,"  he  argued,  "  and  used  that." 

"  Well,  it  doesn't  seem  to  have  done  much  for  you." 
"  Perhaps  there  wasn't  enough  of  it.  As  you  have  just 
so  wisely  remarked,  my  dear  Janet,  I  could  not  spend  more 
of  an  article  than  I  had  got  to  spend:  and  in  the  same  way 
I  could  not  borrow  from  you  mere  of  an  article  than  you 
had  got  to  lend." 

[161] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

Then  Janet  laughed  too,  for  she  possessed  that  most  excel- 
lent of  all  gifts  in  woman,  a  perfect  temper.  Nothing  ever 
put  her  out  or  even  ruffled  her:  and  so  she  was  eminently 
fitted  for  that  vocation  for  which  it  is  commonly  and 
erroneously  supposed  that  all  women  are  equally  fitted  by 
nature — the  vocation  of  matrimony.  The  power  to  become 
a  good  wife  is  as  much  a  gift  as  the  power  to  become  a  good 
painter  or  a  good  writer  or  a  good  musician ;  and  no  woman 
has  it  who  is  not  endowed — either  by  nature  or  by  grace — 
with  a  good  temper.  There  is  no  quality  which  so  mars 
and  spoils  and  destroys  the  happiness  of  married  life  as 
bad  temper.  True,  it  interferes  with  the  peace  of  all  domes- 
tic relations,  and  is  not  a  comfort  in  any  department  of  life : 
but  it  is  worse  in  a  married  woman  than  in  a  single  one, 
because  a  wife  has  far  more  power  to  make  another  person 
miserable  than  has  a  spinster — and  there  is  no  more  success- 
ful way  of  doing  this  than  by  a  frequent  display  of  temper. 
Therefore  let  the  woman  who  has  a  bad  temper,  which  she 
cannot  or  will  not  control,  make  up  her  mind  to  select  the 
cloister  rather  than  the  hearth  as  her  sphere  of  usefulness — 
giving  the  word  "  cloister  "  the  broadest  and  most  modern 
interpretation  possible,  inclusive  of  the  college,  the  club,  the 
art-school,  the  hospital,  the  parish  and  the  political  platform : 
for  she  is  no  more  fit  to  be  a  wife  than  she  is  fit  to  be  a 
steam-engine;  and  she  might  as  well  attempt  to  draw  a  rail- 
way train  as  to  make  a  man  happy.  It  is  not  in  her  to  do 
either. 

-  Janet  Field's  amiability  was  established  beyond  doubt  or 
demur;  so  much  so  that  every  man  who  did  not  marry  her 
— given  the  possibility  of  doing  so — made  more  or  less  of  a 
mistake.  She  had  also  (another  most  valuable  asset  in  mar- 
ried life)  a  sense  of  humour,  though — as  is  the  case  with  all 

[162] 
I 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

of  us — not  as  strong  a  sense  as  she  herself  believed  it  to  be. 
There  are  two  things  which  every  man  or  woman  that 
ever  was  born  believes,  about  himself  or  herself:  namely 
that  he  or  she  has  a  strong  sense  of  humour,  and  is  a  small 
eater!  Most  people  are  convinced  that  they  are  poor 
sleepers  as  well:  but  this  is  not  quite  so  universal  an  article 
of  belief  as  the  other  two. 

"  I  can't  see  the  sense,"  Janet  persisted,  "  of  doing  twice 
as  much  as  you  can  to-day  in  order  that  you  won't  be  able 
to  do  a  quarter  as  much  as  you  can  to-morrow.  It  seems 
to  me  poor  economy." 

"  I  believe  in  putting  one's  whole  strength  into  everything 
that  one  does,  and  doing  it  with  all  one's  might,"  replied 
Gabriel. 

"  That  is  just  what  you  would  believe  in :  it  is  exactly 
what  I  should  have  expected  of  you."  And  Janet  shook  her 
head  as  if  she  were  reproving  him  for  a  fault. 

Gabriel  was  amused,  but  not  penitent.  "  Then  what  do 
you  believe  in,  may  I  be  permitted  to  ask?" 

"  In  regulating  one's  expenditure  by  one's  income  and 
not  by  one's  enthusiasms;  and  in  not  putting  more  strength 
into  a  thing  than  a  thing  actually  needs." 

"O  wise  young  judge,  how  I  do  honour  thee!"  mur- 
mured Gabriel  in  mock  admiration. 

But  in  spite  of  his  gibes  Janet  calmly  had  her  say.  She 
was  by  no  means  a  great  talker;  but  if  she  meant  to  say  a 
thing  she  said  it,  and  it  was  generally  to  the  point.  "  Have 
you  ever  tried  to  open  a  door  which  you  thought  was  hard 
to  open  and  which  was  really  easy;  and  nearly  tumbled 
backwards  in  consequence?" 

"  Often  and  often." 

"  That  is  just  what  you  do  with  everything,  Gabriel.    You 


THE    SUBJECTION 

put  your  whole  heart  and  strength  into  the  doing  of  some- 
thing that  anybody  else  would  do  with  very  little  effort  at 
all:  and  then  you  fall  backwards  and  hurt  yourself;  and 
some  day  you'll  fall  backwards  so  hard  and  hurt  yourself 
so  badly  that  you'll  never  get  up  again." 

'''  Then  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  to  prevent  this  catas- 
trophe?" Gabriel  still  spoke  mockingly,  but  his  mockery 
was  kind. 

"  Take  things  more  easily,  and  consider  yourself  a  bit. 
Oh!  Gabriel,"  and  here  the  hazel  eyes  were  raised  plead- 
ingly, "do  take  care  of  yourself:  you  see,  you  matter  so 
dreadfully,  and  it  would  be  so  terrible  if  you  got  ill  or 
anything." 

The  expression  in  the  hazel  eyes  was  enough  to  touch 
any  man — even  a  man  who  had  never  regarded  them  as 
anything  but  sisterly  eyes:  and  it  touched  Gabriel  a  good 
deal. 

"  You  see,  dear,"  he  said,  "  I  have  my  flock  to  consider 
as  well  as  myself:  you  mustn't  forget  them." 

"But  I  do  forget  them:  I  forget  them  utterly:  I  don't 
care  what  becomes  of  them  compared  with  you."  Though 
Janet's  diction  might  be  involved,  her  meaning  was  clear. 
"  I  would  sacrifice  the  whole  of  S.  Etheldreda's  parish  to 
save  you  a  pain  in  your  little  ringer,  Gabriel!  I  would 
indeed.  What  do  the  souls  of  a  thousand  costermongers 
matter  in  comparison  with  your  health  ?  Nothing  at  all !  " 

"Oh,  hush,  Janet,  hush!  You  mustn't  talk  like  that. 
In  the  sight  of  God  the  soul  of  a  costermonger  is  worth  as 
much  as  mine.  Besides,"  he  added  whimsically,  "  they  are 
not  costermongers:  they  are  petty  tradesmen  of  arrogant 
respectability;  and  so  their  souls  are  worth  more  than  a 
costermonger's  because  they  are  so  much  rarer." 

[164] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

But  Janet  was  too  much  in  earnest  to  smile.  "  I'm  not 
looking  at  it  from  God's  point  of  view:  I'm  looking  at  it 
from  mine  and  Aunt  Eveline's ;  and  it  breaks  both  our  hearts 
to  see  you  sacrificing  your  splendid,  clever,  handsome  self 
for  a  lot  of  horrid,  dirty,  good-for-nothing  shopkeepers." 

Gabriel  shook  his  head.  "  Janet,  Janet,  haven't  I  told 
you  that  they  are  not  dirty?" 

"  I  don't  care:  no  amount  of  washing  will  ever  make 
a  million  of  them  equal  to  one  of  you,  and  nothing  could 
ever  convince  me  that  it  will." 


[165] 


CHAPTER    XII 

FABIA'S  MARRIAGE 

WHILE  Gabriel  Carr  was  endeavouring  for  the  sake  of  his 
health  to  let  the  grass  grow  under  his  feet  in  Mershire, 
Mrs.  Paul  Seaton  was  doing  nothing  of  the  kind  in  Lon- 
don. She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  give  Fabia  Vipart  in 
marriage  to  Charles  Gaythorne;  and  she  allowed  herself 
no  rest  until  this  mission  was  safely  accomplished.  Over 
the  trousseau  she  was  simply  indefatigable.  She  loved  clothes, 
other  women's  as  well  as  her  own :  even  in  Isabel's  small- 
nesses  there  was  nothing  really  small:  and  she  and  Fabia 
were  drawn  nearer  to  each  other  over  this  said  trousseau 
than  they  had  ever  been  before.  There  is  a  wonderful 
freemasonry  among  all  the  women  who  love  clothes,  which 
the  uninitiated  cannot  in  the  least  understand  or  enter  into. 

Fabia  had  grown  much  more  amiable  since  her  engage- 
ment :  success  had  a  beneficial  effect  upon  her,  as  it  has  upon 
so  many  people:  and  now  that  she  was  about  to  make  what 
the  world  calls  an  excellent  match,  she  received  unstintingly 
that  praise  of  men  which  is  only  accorded  to  those  who  do 
well  unto  themselves. 

True,  her  relations  with  Charlie  Gaythorne  were  by  no 
means  ideal  in  their  nature.  She  regarded  him  with  mingled 
feelings  of  contempt  and  gratitude — gratitude  for  what  he 
had,  and  contempt  for  what  he  was;  and  there  was  no  modi- 

[166] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

cum  of  love  in  the  composition.  As  for  him,  he  was  more 
infatuated  with  her  than  ever;  and  the  blindness  of  his 
adoration  and  the  slavishness  of  his  worship  were  just  the 
things  most  calculated  to  strengthen  Fabia's  present  attitude 
towards  him.  Had  he  shown  himself  in  his  dealings  with 
her  the  man  that  he  really  was,  it  would  have  been  better 
for  her  and  better  for  him:  but  he  did  not:  and  so — like 
the  rest  of  us — he  had  to  bear  the  consequences  of  his  own 
want  of  wisdom.  There  is  nothing  so  severely  punished 
ifi  this  world  as  a  blunder.  A  crime  is  oftentimes  forgiven 
— still  oftener  undiscovered:  but  a  blunder  has  to  meet  its 
liabilities  even  to  the  uttermost  farthing:  and  this  is  usually 
done  in  the  full  light  of  day  before  an  audience  that  neither 
spares  nor  pities. 

Naturally  Fabia  had  not  forgotten  her  encounter  with 
the  Vicar  of  S.  Etheldreda's ;  but  her  feelings  for  him  also 
were  mixed.  She  was  to  a  certain  extent  angry  with  him 
for  his  treatment  of  her:  but  she  was  nothing  like  as  angry 
as  Isabel  would  have  been  in  similar  circumstances.  With 
all  her  faults — and  doubtless  she  had  many — Fabia  was  no 
egotist:  she  was  able  to  regard  a  thing  or  a  person  apart 
from  that  thing  or  that  person's  relation  to  herself:  and 
she  could  not  therefore  fail  to  admire  Gabriel's  uprightness 
and  singleness  of  heart,  even  though  these  had  combined  to 
her  own  undoing.  Moreover  she  had  loved  him  from  the 
moment  that  she  discovered  that  he  was  stronger  than  she. 
His  very  sternness,  which  would  have  repelled  a  typically 
western  woman,  was  irresistibly  attractive  to  the  Oriental 
strain  in  Fabia's  nature.  She  was  born  of  a  race  of  women 
who  were  accustomed  to  obey;  and  the  more  masterful  a 
man  was,  the  readier  was  she  to  fall  down  and  worship  him : 
and  therefore  nothing  could  have  been  more  inimical  to  their 

[167] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

future  happiness  than  the  humble  and  deferential  attitude 
which  Captain  Gaythorne  adopted  towards  his  bride-elect. 

"What  is  going  to  happen  to  Mrs.  Gaythorne?"  Paul 
asked  of  his  wife  in  one  of  the  few  moments  which  she 
spared  to  him  out  of  the  whirl  of  nuptial  preparations. 

"  Happen  to  her?  What  on  earth  do  you  mean?  Noth- 
ing is  going  to  happen  to  her  that  I  know  of.  She  isn't  going 
to  be  married !  " 

"Heaven  forbid!  But  isn't  she  going  to  turn  out  to 
make  room  for  Fabia?  " 

"Mrs.  Gaythorne  turn  out  to  make  room  for  anybody? 
Oh,  Paul,  what  an  idea!  You'll  be  asking  next  whether 
the  sun  isn't  going  to  turn  out  to  make  room  for  some 
acetylene  gas-company  or  other:  or  whether  London  isn't 
going  to  turn  out  to  make  room  for  the  garden-city." 

Paul  smiled,  but  he  held  his  ground.  "  I  thought  mothers- 
in-law  always  turned  out  when  their  sons  married:  went 
to  a  Dower-House  or  something  of  that  kind,  don't  you 
know?" 

But  Isabel  met  him  with  open  scorn.  "  Dower-House 
indeed!  Think  of  Mrs.  Gaythorne  in  a  Dower-House!  I 
don't  believe  the  Dower-House  is  built  that  would  contain 
Mrs.  Gaythorne." 

"Mrs.  Gaythorne  is  an  excellent  woman,"  began  Paul; 
«  but " 

His  wife  interrupted  him.  "  I  know  what  you  are  going 
to  say — that  her  only  failing  is  infallibility,  and  I  agree 
with  you.  But  it  is  a  common  fault ;  Wrexham  has  it  badly, 
and  so  have  others.  I  often  wonder  what  people  like 
Wrexham  and  Mrs.  Gaythorne  do  to  pass  the  time  while 
the  rest  of  the  congregation  are  repeating  the  General  Con- 
fession. You  are  a  bit  inclined  that  way  yourself." 

[:68] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  Oh,  Isabel !  "    Paul  looked  really  hurt. 

His  wife  patted  his  shoulder  encouragingly.  "  It  is  only 
a  tendency  in  your  case — not  a  really  vicious  virtue  at 
present.  But  if  you  don't  take  care  to  make  not  less  than 
one  trifling  mistake  a  week,  and  to  be  wrong  on  some  unim- 
portant matter  at  least  every  other  day,  you'll  most  assuredly 
be  infallible  by  the  time  you  are  fifty.  But  you  can't  locate 
Infallibility  in  a  Dower-House  at  any  price.  Its  natural 
habitations  are  Vaticans  and  places  of  that  kind." 

"  Well,  all  I  can  say  is,  then,  that  I  pity  poor  Fabia." 

Mrs.  Seaton  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't.  She  won't  mind. 
She  likes  Mrs.  Gaythorne  better  than  she  likes  me." 

"  Oh,  I  say,  that's  impossible!  You  are  talking  nonsense, 
my  darling.  Nobody  could  like  Mrs.  Gaythorne  better  than 
they  like  you — not  even  old  Gaythorne  himself,  if  he  were 
alive!" 

"  Possibly  not.  Mr.  Gaythorne  was  a  man.  But  heaps 
of  women  would — Fabia  included." 

"  Well — with  one  notable  exception — I  haven't  a  very 
high  opinion  of  female  intellect,  as  you  know: — but  I  must 
say  I  don't  think  so  badly  of  the  sex  as  all  that."  And  Paul 
touched  the  tip  of  his  wife's  ear  caressingly.  He  wanted  to 
stroke  her  hair:  but  experience  had  taught  him  that  when 
a  woman's  hair  is  what  she  calls  "  done  "  he  is  a  brave 
man  who,  even  in  the  way  of  kindness,  lays  his  hand 
upon  it. 

"  You  never  do  Mrs.  Gaythorne  justice,  Paul." 

"  By  Jove,  I  do,  though !  I  think  she  is  the  most  over- 
bearing and  dominating  woman  that  Providence  ever  made 
— bar  none." 

Isabel  sighed  reproachfully.  "  That  comes  of  being  a 
Radical!  You  Radicals  don't  really  appreciate  our  old 

[I69] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

national  institutions,  such  as  the  Divine  Right  of  kings,  and 
the  Established  Church,  and  the  Penny  Postage,  and  Mrs. 
Gaythorne.  These  things  are  part  of  the  Empire." 

"  Are  they?  "  Paul  laughed,  and  kissed  his  wife.  "  Then 
do  respectable  old  Whigs  such  as  yourself  appreciate  them?  " 

"  We  do.  For  my  part  I  feel  towards  Mrs.  Gaythorne 
exactly  as  I  feel  towards  the  British  Constitution,  and  the 
Union  Jack,  and  the  House  of  Hanover.  They  rouse  noble 
and  patriotic  feelings  in  me — they  make  me  proud  of  my 
country — they  induce  me  to  '  thank  the  goodness  and  the 
grace  ' — and  heaps  of  things  like  that.  Roast  beef  on  Sun- 
day has  exactly  the  same  effect;  and  so  have  Handel's  music 
and  some  of  Macaulay's  Essays." 

Isabel  was  quite  right.  Mrs.  Gaythorne  had  not  the 
slightest  intention  of  turning  out  to  make  room  for  any- 
body; nor  would  Charlie  ever  have  imagined  such  a  thing 
possible  in  his  wildest  dreams.  And,  to  tell  the  truth,  Fabia 
did  not  altogether  object  to  the  present  arrangement.  She 
did  not  care  enough  for  her  future  husband  for  the  prospect 
of  a  solitude  a  deux  to  offer  any  attractions  to  her:  and  she 
entertained  a  very  strong  and  real  regard  for  Mrs.  Gay- 
thorne. The  very  masterfulness  of  the  elder  woman  fascin- 
ated her  and  held  her  captive,  since  strength  of  any  kind 
appealed  to  Fabia.  As  has  been  remarked  before,  Miss 
Vipart  doubtless  had  her  faults :  but  she  was  of  a  stuff  which 
is  not  bad  raw  material  for  the  fashioning  of  daugJbters-in- 
law:  good  daughters-in-law  not  being  in  any  way  synony- 
mous with  good  daughters  or  good  wives. 

Much  is  written  and  said  about  mothers-in-law:  little  or 
nothing  about  daughters-in-law:  yet  the  one  class  is  as 
important  as  the  other,  and  has  equally  its  distinguishing 
characteristics.  Roughly  speaking,  the  better  a  woman  is  as 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

a  daughter  or  a  wife,  the  less  satisfactory  she  will  prove  as 
a  daughter-in-law:  and  this  in  the  very  nature  of  things. 
For  the  more  devoted  she  is  to  her  husband,  the  more  will 
she  resent  and  be  jealous  of  any  influence  which  in  any  way 
whatever  comes  between  her  and  him :  and  the  more  devoted 
she  is  to  her  own  people,  the  less  will  she  be  in  sympathy 
with  the  customs  and  traditions  of  another  family.  It  is  all 
a  part  of  the  great  law  of  compensation:  no  woman  can  be 
a  success  in  every  relation  of  life — no  woman  can  be  a  fail- 
ure in  all.  Therefore,  when  all  her  little  world  condemns 
tiresome  old  Mrs.  Jones  because  she  does  not  properly  appre- 
ciate that  charming  young  Mrs.  Jones,  who  was  so  excellent 
a  daughter  in  the  days  when  she  was  Miss  Smith,  let  it 
remember  that  the  very  characteristics  which  make  Mrs. 
Jones  Junior  a  helpmeet  for  young  Jones  and  a  polished  cor- 
ner in  the  temple  of  the  house  of  Smith,  are  the  very  charac- 
teristics which  are  most  aggravating  and  irritating  to 
young  Jones's  mother:  and  that  probably  in  this  matter  the 
disagreeable  old  lady  has  far  more  to  try  her  than  the 
amiable  young  one,  and  should  be  judged  accordingly:  since 
we  can  none  of  us  escape  the  defects  of  our  qualities. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  when  the  season  was  drawing  to  a 
close — when  women  recklessly  put  on  their  best  clothes  and 
their  finest  conversation  for  dinner-parties,  and  did  not  take 
the  trouble  to  go  to  non-R.  S.  V.  P.  parties  at  all — when 
Bills  which  would  have  travelled  through  Parliament  at  the 
rate  of  the  South  Eastern  earlier  in  the  session,  now  rushed 
through  it  with  the  speed  of  falling  stars — when  the  streets 
smelled  of  wood-pavement  and  cabbage-stalks,  and  there  was 
neither  excitement  nor  oxygen  in  the  air — then  did  Charles 
Gaythorne  take  to  wife  Fabia  Vipart,  with  much  show  and 
ceremony,  and  ringing  of  bells:  and  gave  her  the  right,  for 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF    ISABEL    CARNAB^ 

the  first  time  in  her  life,  to  meet  her  equals  with  equality, 
and  to  be  of,  as  well  as  in,  the  fashionable  world:  in  short, 
he  admitted  her  within  the  precincts  and  endowed  her  with 
the  freedom  of  the  red  cord.  For  the  which  she  was  accord- 
ingly thankful. 


[  17*  ]' 


CHAPTER    XIII 

GABRIEL    THE    MAN 

THE  weeks  passed  on,  and  still  Gabriel  did  not  gain  strength. 
There  was  nothing  definite  the  matter  with  him:  perhaps  it 
would  have  been  better  for  him  if  there  had  been,  since  a 
definite  evil  demands  a  definite  cure :  but  he  had  simply  done 
too  much — had  overdrawn  his  account  at  the  bank  of  vital- 
ity— and  Nature,  that  most  merciless  of  creditors,  was  set 
upon  summonsing  him  before  her  county  court,  and  station- 
ing her  bailiffs,  Weakness  and  Weariness  and  Depression, 
in  his  house,  until  he  should  have  paid  her  back  to  the  utter- 
most farthing. 

At  the  end  of  two  months  spent  with  his  mother  in  the 
country,  Gabriel  returned  to  town  to  consult  the  great 
doctor  who  had  taken  his  case  in  hand;  and  there  he  was 
met  with  the  crushing  blow  that  he  must — if  he  ever  wished 
to  regain  his  shattered  health  and  strength — resign  the  living 
of  S.  Etheldreda's,  and  take  a  country  parish  for  a  term  of 
several  years.  That  was  the  only  course  open  to  him,  the 
doctor  said,  unless  he  were  bent  upon  suicide. 

He  came  back  to  his  mother's  well-nigh  broken-hearted : 
it  seemed  as  if  Fortune  had  indeed  been  outrageous  in  pelting 
him  with  her  slings  and  arrows.  First  the  disappointment 
about  Fabia:  and  then  this  still  severer  blow  about  S.  Ethel- 
dreda's: love  and  life-work  taken  away  from  him  at  one  fell 
swoop,  just  when  he  thought  he  was  nearing  the  summit  of 

[  173] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

success  in  both:  and  for  a  time  the  burden  seemed  greater 
than  he  could  bear.  He  had  meant  to  do  such  wonderful 
things  with  his  work  before  him  and  Fabia  by  his  side:  he 
had  intended  to  remove  mountains  and  to  overthrow  princi- 
palities and  powers — to  stand  in  the  forefront  of  the  great 
battle  between  good  and  evil,  and  to  go  forth  conquering  and 
to  conquer.  And  suddenly  he  was  met  by  the  stern  decree, 
"  Thus  far  shalt  thou  go  and  no  farther  " ;  he  was  bidden 
to  stand  no  longer  with  the  Ark  in  the  middle  of  Jordan, 
but  to  court  ease  and  obscurity  in  the  backwater  of  a  coun- 
try parish.  Truly  the  Hand  of  God  was  heavy  upon  him 
just  then ! 

And  the  very  fact  that  he  was  out  of  health  made  it  all 
the  harder  for  him  patiently  to  endure  and  cheerfully  to 
submit ;  for  a  man's  faith  is  often  very  much  affected  by  his 
physical  condition.  Satan  understood  human  nature  when 
he  suggested  that  even  the  patient  Job  might  curse  God  to 
His  Face  when  once  his  flesh  and  his  bone  were  touched. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  Satan  always  does  understand  human 
nature!  It  is  Divine  Nature  that  passes  his  comprehension: 
so  that  when — as  frequently  happens  even  in  this  present 
world — this  mortal  puts  on  immortality,  Satan's  reckonings 
are  upset  and  his  premises  falsified:  as  indeed  happened  in 
the  very  case  quoted  above. 

So  poor  Gabriel  went  a  day's  journey  into  the  wilderness 
of  blighted  hope  and  bitter  disappointment,  and  sat  him 
down  under  the  juniper  tree  of  doubt  and  despair,  with  the 
old  cry,  "  It  is  enough ;  now  take  away  my  life !  "  And  as 
he  lay  ifi  the  dark  shadow  of  the  juniper  tree,  behold,  as 
aforetime,  an  angel  touched  him;  and  the  angel  came  in  the 
form  of  Janet  Field. 

Now,  had  uninspired  humanity  been  writing  the  history  of 

[174] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

Elijah,  it  would  have  dealt  with  this  scene  in  the  story  very 
differently.  It  was  a  striking  moment;  a  moment  when 
spirits  are  finely  tuned  to  fine  issues.  Think  of  it:  a  scene 
with  only  two  dramatis  personae:  and  they  very  choicest  of 
their  kind.  First,  the  prophet  who  had  just  played  the 
principal  part  in  the  most  splendid  drama  ever  written — 
who  had  stood  upon  the  summit  of  Carmel  and  called  down 
fire  from  Heaven  to  confound  his  enemies ;  and  who  had  then 
made  the  very  clouds  his  chariots  and  refreshed  the  parched 
earth  with  abundance  of  rain.  Did  ever  conqueror  return 
from  a  more  magnificent  victory  than  this?  Did  ever  mere 
man  before  or  since  constrain  clouds  and  fire  and  stormy; 
winds  to  the  fulfilling  of  his  word?  This  was  the  first 
person  in  the  drama.  The  second  was  no  less  wonderful, 
being  one  of  those  mysterious  beings  who  excel  in  strength — 
one  of  those  sons  of  God  who  shouted  for  joy  when  the 
foundations  of  the  earth  were  laid,  chanting  their  Amen  to 
the  Venlte  of  the  morning  stars. 

And  what  did  this  angelic  messenger  say  to  the  mighty 
conqueror  who  was  for  the  moment  overthrown?  Did  he 
strengthen  him  with  the  recital  of  past  triumphs,  or  encour- 
age him  with  a  battle-song  of  still  greater  things  to  be? 

Listen!  "And  behold  an  angel  touched  him  and  said 
unto  him,  Arise  and  eat." 

No  war-songs  or  battle-cries  or  heroics.  Nothing  but 
such  ordinary,  everyday,  homely  comfort  as  would  be  given 
to  a  weeping  child. 

And  there  was  more  than  mere  comfort:  there  was  tender 
sympathy:  for  "  the  Angel  came  again  the  second  time  and 
touched  him  and  said,  Arise  and  eat;  because  the  journey  is 
too  great  for  thee." 

Dear,    human    commonplace,    comfortable    words;    such 

[175] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

words  as  we  should  all  like  to  hear  in  our  dejected  moments, 
when  the  road  is  too  stony  for  us  and  we  fall  by  the  way  like 
tired  children:  such  words  as  are  spoken  to  one  whom  his 
mother  comforteth! 

Thus  Gabriel  found  consolation  in  the  loving  sympathy 
and  cheerful  companionship  of  Janet.  She  talked  no  heroics 
to  him:  she  did  not  attempt  to  prove  by  argument  that  all 
things  are  for  the  best  in  this  best  of  all  possible  worlds ;  she 
first  looked  after  his  bodily  comforts,  and  then  shared  with 
him  the  sorrow  of  his  heart.  Her  whole  walk  and  conversa- 
tion was  but  an  amplification  of  the  words,  "  Arise  and  eat ; 
because  the  journey  is  too  great  for  thee."  Truly,  as  far 
as  Gabriel  was  concerned,  she  was  a  veritable  angel  of  the 
Lord. 

There  are  many  women  in  this  world  who  would  fain  give 
consolation  in  sorrow  to  the  men  whom  they  love:  but  they 
do  not  know  the  way.  They  argue  and  encourage  and  cheer 
and  exhort,  and  yet  it  is  all  in  vain.  Such  women  would  do 
well  to  learn  a  lesson  from  the  angel  of  Elijah. 

Gradually  Janet  became  more  than  an  angel  to  Gabriel — 
more  than  one  of  those  heavenly  visitants  who  neither  marry 
nor  are  given  in  marriage:  she  began  to  occupy  the  niche  in 
his  heart  which  the  defalcation  of  Fabia  had  left  vacant.  It 
is  a  true  saying  that  the  affections  of  many  men  are  caught 
on  the  rebound ;  and  these  as  a  rule  are  what  are  commonly 
known  as  "  marrying  men."  The  man  who  is  described  by 
his  friends  as  "  not  a  marrying  man  "  is  rarely,  if  ever, 
enslaved  in  this  way;  his  affections,  when  once  wounded 
and  repulsed,  are  even  more  impregnable  than  they  were 
before. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  bachelors  in  this  world:  the  men 
in  the  walls  and  structures  of  whose  hearts  are  empty  niches 

[I76] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

all  ready  for  the  image  of  the  unknown  goddess;  just  as  in 
some  houses  there  are  book-shelves  built  into  the  original 
fabric ;  and  the  men  who  have  no  place  prepared  when  Diana 
of  the  Ephesians  falls  straight  down  from  Jupiter;  and  conse- 
quently walls  have  to  be  knocked  down  and  other  furniture 
removed  to  make  room  for  her. 

Carr  belonged  to  the  former  class:  from  his  boyhood  he 
had  worshipped  the  Ideal  Woman.  Feminine  sympathy  and 
companionship  and  approbation  were  essential  to  him:  he 
could  not  live  without  them.  Therefore  when — as  he  imag- 
ined— Fabia  had  once  embodied  the  Ideal,  he  could  not 
again — even  though  Fabia  had  failed — disembody  her.  If 
he  had  not  first  fallen  in  love  with  Fabia,  he  would  probably 
never  have  fallen  in  love  with  Janet:  but  the  door  of  his 
heart  having  once  been  thrown  open  by  Fabia,  it  would  not 
close  again ;  so  Janet  found  at  last  an  easy  entry.  She  would 
never  have  succeeded  in  opening  that  door  herself:  she  lacked 
the  special  power  to  do  so:  but,  after  another  hand  had 
forced  the  lock,  there  was  no  one  so  well  fitted  as  she  to 
enter  in  and  sweep  and  garnish. 

Janet  was  one  of  the  rare  women  who  are  proficient  per- 
formers on  that  useful  instrument  popularly  known  as  the 
"  second  fiddle."  It  is  a  great  gift.  The  women  who  are 
content  to  play  second  fiddle,  and  to  make  the  best  of  it, 
give  much  sweet  music  to  the  world:  there  are  no  more 
essential  performers  in  the  orchestra  of  life  than  they.  Do 
we  not  all  know  them  and  the  soothing  harmonies  which 
they  make — patient  spinsters,  kindly  stepmothers,  comfort- 
able second  wives;  humbly  and  cheerfully  taking  the  part 
allotted  to  them  by  the  Great  Conductor,  and  never  strug- 
gling nor  straining  after  the  first  place?  Are  not  all  our 
lives  the  richer  for  their  music?  And  can  we  doubt  that 

[  177] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

these  blessed  musicians  shall  take  one  day  a  leading  part  in 
that  chorus  which  shall  stand  on  the  shores  of  the  sea  of 
glass,  striking  the  harps  of  God? 

Janet  was  aware  that  she  was  not  Gabriel's  first  love: 
during  the  sunny  afternoons  of  that  long  summer  holiday 
he  had  confided  in  her  the  whole  story  of  his  infatuation  for 
Fabia,  and  the  disappointment  that  it  had  brought  him :  and 
she  was  content  that  it  should  be  so.  He  was  so  utterly  first 
with  her  that  she  never  even  asked  what  place  she  took 
with  regard  to  him.  It  was  enough  for  her  to  love :  she  did 
not  trouble  about  any  return. 

There  is  always  something  rather  small  about  the  jealous 
woman — the  woman  who  refuses  to  marry  a  widower,  or 
who  begs  her  husband  to  promise  her  that  he  will  never 
marry  again  should  anything  happen  to  her.  Something  is 
lacking  in  the  quality  of  her  love :  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart 
she  loves  herself  more  than  she  loves  him.  Were  her  love 
perfect,  she  would  want  him  to  be  happy  even  at  the  cost 
of  his  memory  of  her:  she  would  be  content  to  be  forgotten 
if  only  he  could  be  comforted.  The  maternal  element  in  her 
love  would  help  her  to  this :  and  the  wife  who  has  no  mater- 
nal element  in  her  love  for  her  husband  falls  considerably 
short  of  the  mark  of  her  high  calling. 

But  Fate  was  not  without  its  irony  for  poor  Gabriel,  even 
in  the  compensations  of  his  present  lot.  It  was  hard  that  he 
should  at  last  have  fallen  in  love  with  Janet  just  when  the 
fiat  had  gone  forth  that  he  had  no  home  to  offer  to  her.  Had 
he  only  learnt  her  true  value  any  time  during  the  past  half- 
dozen  years,  he  could  have  married  her  at  once;  and  in  all 
human  probability  his  health  in  that  case  would  never  have 
broken  down  at  all,  for  Janet  was  just  the  sort  of  wife  to 
look  after  a  man  well,  and  to  see  that  he  was  cherished  and 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

comforted  as  well  as  honoured  and  obeyed.  But,  like  many 
another  good  man,  Gabriel  did  the  right  thing  at  the  wrong 
time;  and  was  sorely  punished,  as  are  all  such  innocent 
offenders,  for  the  unpunctuality  of  his  well-doing.  So  while 
Janet  soothed  him  in  his  dual  disappointment  over  his 
slighted  love  and  his  arrested  life-work,  she  unconsciously 
drove  him  out  of  the  fire  of  transitory  infatuation  for  Fabia 
into  the  frying-pan  of  unswerving  devotion  to  herself;  and 
thus  rendered  the  second  state  of  poor  Gabriel  worse  than 
the  first. 

He  could  not  tell  her  in  so  many  words  of  his  new-born 
love  for  her;  honour  forbade  it  now  that  he  had  neither 
home  nor  income  to  offer;  but  Janet — though  not  a  clever 
woman  in  the  accepted  sense  of  the  word — was  quite  clever 
enough  to  see  what  had  come  to  pass,  and  to  be  thankful 
accordingly.  It  was  characteristic  of  her  that  she  did  not 
waste  her  time  nor  her  strength  in  regretting  that  Gabriel 
had  not  learnt  to  love  her  sooner:  she  returned  thanks  that 
he  had  not  postponed  this  awakening  until  even  later;  and 
the  mere  knowledge  of  it  made  melody  in  her  heart. 

"  I  expect  I  must  give  up  S.  Etheldreda's,  and  give  it  up 
at  once,"  said  Gabriel,  one  summer's  evening,  as  he  and  his 
mother  and  Janet  were  sitting  in  the  garden  of  the  little 
Midland  cottage;  "I  cannot  extend  my  holiday  further: 
and  it  is  time  that  my  successor  was  appointed  and  given  his 
work  to  do.  But  I  shall  miss  it — oh,  I  shall  miss  it !  "  His 
voice  broke  as  he  concluded  the  sentence.  Gabriel  had  one 
of  those  impressionable  natures  which  rise  to  great  heights 
and  sink  to  great  depths :  he  was  always  either  upon  Mount 
Carmel  or  lying  down  under  the  juniper  tree. 

"  As  you  say,  dearest,"  replied  Mrs.  Carr;  "  it  seems  time 
that  something  definite  should  be  done,  as  no  locum  tenens 

[179] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

can  stay  permanently  anywhere  because  of  his  own  work  at 
home,  and  being  a  stranger  and  a  sojourner,  as  it  were,  and 
therefore  the  course  of  teaching  more  disjointed  than  in  the 
case  of  the  real  incumbent,  besides  his  not  having  the  threads 
of  all  the  parishioners  in  his  hands,  and  so  less  able  to  admin- 
ister advice  and  counsel." 

"  It  is  hard  to  give  it  all  up,"  Gabriel  groaned ;  "  and  just 
when  I  was  getting  some  hold  upon  the  hearts  of  the 
people !  " 

"Never  mind,"  said  Janet,  in  soothing  tones;  "it  will 
all  come  right." 

"But  I  must  mind:  I  cannot  help  minding:  it  is  my 
business  to  mind." 

Janet  shook  her  head.  "  No,  it  isn't ;  it  is  your  business 
to  get  strong  and  well  as  quickly  as  you  can,  and  God's 
business  to  look  after  S.  Etheldreda's." 

"  Oh,  yes,  love,  yes ;  of  course  it  is ;  how  clearly  dear 
Janet  always  puts  things!  You  must  have  faith,  my 
Gabriel,  more  faith.  Think  of  the  grain  of  mustard-seed 
that  the  woman  hid  in  three  measures  of  meal  till  it  leav- 
ened the  whole  lump.  It  is  faith  of  that  kind  that  you 
need,  dear  child,  and  in  fact  all  of  us."  Mrs.  Carr  was  apt 
to  confuse  her  parables:  but  she  held  fast  to  the  truths 
which  they  set  forth. 

"  It  is  so  easy  to  have  faith  for  other  people :  and  so  hard 
to  have  it  for  oneself,"  sighed  Gabriel. 

"  But  the  fact  that  a  duty  is  difficult  does  not  make  it  any 
the  less  imperative." 

"  That  is  so,  dearest  Janet,"  assented  Mrs.  Carr;  "  if  we 
have  to  do  things,  we  have  to  do  them,  however  impossible 
they  may  be,  and  not  even  in  good  health  or  up  to  our  usual 
spirits,  which  always  makes  everything  more  of  a  burden 

[180] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

than  otherwise  and  increases  the  necessity  for  a  strong  tonic 
and  complete  rest  of  mind  and  body." 

"  And  even  if — as  Janet  so  wisely  counsels — I  leave  my 
work  in  God's  hands,  what  is  to  become  of  me,  deprived 
suddenly  of  home  and  income?  " 

Janet  smiled.  "  You  think  that  God  is  equal  to  the  task 
of  looking  after  S.  Etheldreda's,  but  not  quite  to  be  trusted 
with  the  responsibility  of  looking  after  you  as  well?  Oh, 
Gabriel,  I'm  ashamed  of  you!  " 

Here  his  mother  flew  to  Gabriel's  rescue.  "  Really, 
Janet,  love,  I  cannot  allow  you  to  speak  of  my  own  ewe  lamb 
in  that  way:  you  seem  to  insinuate  that  Gabriel  is  guilty  of 
irreverence  towards  his  Maker,  which  anything  further 
from  his  thoughts  I  cannot  imagine.  But  one  cannot  help 
feeling  that  the  charge  of  a  parish  is  more  worthy  to  be  left 
in  the  Hands  of  the  Creator  than  attending  to  a  man's 
private  income,  which  is  really  a  layman's  duty,  or  even  a 
mere  man  of  business." 

Depressed  as  Gabriel  was,  he  could  not  forbear  a  smile 
at  this,  especially  when  he  saw  Janet's  hazel  eyes  twinkle 
in  sympathy:  it  was  so  thoroughly  indicative  of  Mrs.  Carr's 
attitude  towards  her  Maker,  Whom  she  regarded  as  a  sort 
of  deified  Archbishop,  not  to  be  troubled  with  affairs  uncon- 
nected with  the  Church.  "  If  you  think  that,  mother,  you 
ought  never  to  say  grace  before  meat.  Surely  it  is  what 
you  would  call  a  mere  layman's  duty  to  preside  over  a  meal 
and  to  bless  common  food  to  our  use." 

"  My  dear  Gabriel,  I  have  always  said  grace  before  meat 
and  always  shall:  it  is  no  use  your  trying  to  dissuade  me 
from  it.  It  was  my  custom  in  my  cradle,  as  it  will  be  my 
custom  upon  my  death-bed,  taught  me  by  my  dear  mother: 
and  a  meal  upon  which  no  blessing  is  asked  always  terrifies 

[181] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

me,  for  fear  of  undigested  food  or  fish-bone  in  the  throat, 
if  not  ptomaine  poisoning  and  typhoid  in  the  milk.  I  never 
should  expect  to  recover  from  a  meal  upon  which  no  bless- 
ing had  been  asked,  not  even  if  the  fish  were  boned  and 
there  was  only  semolina  pudding.  And  by  what  right,  I 
should  like  to  know?  Except  the  Lord  build  the  house, 
men  sow  and  reap  in  vain." 

Gabriel  suppressed  a  laugh,  as  he  wondered  what  his 
mother  would  do  if  she  were  asked  to  parse  one  of  her  own 
sentences.  "It's  all  right,  mother;  you  misunderstood  me. 
I  am  the  last  person  to  object  to  your  asking  grace  before 
meat." 

But  Mrs.  Carr  was  a  past  mistress  in  the  art  of  misunder- 
standing people.  Nothing  was  too  plain  or  too  simple  for 
her  to  misunderstand.  She  even  amazed  her  own  son  some- 
times by  her  powers  of  misapprehension.  "  Then  why  did 
you  say  so,  my  dear  love,  and  cause  me  so  much  pain  ?  Both 
you  and  Janet  are  so  fond  of  saying  things  and  then  saying 
that  you  didn't  say  them,  which  makes  it  so  confusing  for 
the  other  person,  with  the  best  intentions  in  the  world. 
If  you  don't  object  to  my  saying  grace,  why  did  you 
say  you  did?  And  if  dear  Janet  doesn't  think  you  irrever- 
ent, why  does  she  say  you  are? — everybody  being  judged 
by  their  words,  or  else  how  could  you  know  them  at 
all?" 

"  What  I  want  to  know  is,  what  will  become  of  me  after 
I  have  resigned  the  living  of  S.  Etheldreda's  ?  "  Gabriel's 
passing  amusement  was  over,  and  he  was  down  in  the 
depths  again. 

"  Something  is  sure  to  turn  up,"  the  cheerful  Janet 
hastened  to  assure  him.  "  I  feel  certain  that  God  will  look 
after  you,  even  though  it  be  but  secular  work  to  do  so." 

[182] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

Janet  could  not  resist  making  fun  of  Mrs.  Carr  sometimes, 
though  to  do  her  justice  she  struggled  manfully  against  the 
temptation. 

"  What  you  need,  my  dear  boy,  is  more  faith  and  hope 
and  a  country  parish,  though  not  too  scattered  in  case  of 
bad  weather,  and  the  Squire  at  your  back  should  the  funds 
run  short  and  no  private  means." 

"  But  how  am  I  to  get  a  country  parish,  mother?  It  is 
none  so  easy.  And  especially  as  I  need  one  with  an  income 
sufficient  to  keep  me  from  starvation,  having — as  you  point 
out — no  private  means." 

"  True,  love,  they  do  not  grow  on  every  bush  like  sand 
on  the  seashore,  as  you  say:  but  there  must  be  plenty  some- 
where, or  else  why  aren't  all  the  clergy  in  the  workhouse? 
Though,  as  Janet  is  always  saying,  it  is  no  credit  to  the 
Church  of  England  that  they  are  not,  being  so  miserably 
underpaid  and  the  labourer  always  worthy  of  his  hire. 
Certainly  the  Nonconformists  set  us  a  good  example  there, 
though  sometimes  not  Catholic  in  doctrine:  and  of  course 
you  would  find  it  a  little  dull,  after  the  constant  toil  and 
turmoil  of  a  London  parish,  which  would  make  it  so  much 
more  soothing  and  restful.  I  often  wish  that  my  small 
means  were  sufficient  to  do  more  than  just  keep  Janet  and 
myself:  but  it  is  often  difficult  for  us  as  it  is  to  make  both 
ends  meet,  even  pinching  ourselves  at  every  turn,  and  only 
one  joint  of  meat  a  week." 

"  It  is  supper-time,"  said  Janet,  rising  and  folding  up 
her  work:  "  and  I  propose  that  we  go  in  and  enjoy  it,  and 
don't  take  thought  for  the  morrow  any  more  to-night. 
There's  steak-and-kidney  pie  and  a  junket,  both  of  which 
I  made  myself,  because  I  knew  that  they  were  two  of 
Gabriel's  favourite  dishes:  and  it  is  no  good  making  them 

[183] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

disagree  with  us  all  before  we  eat  them,  through  worrying 
over  what  can't  be  helped." 

"  Thank  you,  Janet."  Gabriel  was  touched.  He  was 
one  of  the  men — and  their  name  is  Legion — who  love  to 
be  petted. 

"  And  for  my  part,"  added  Janet,  as  they  strolled  towards 
the  house,  "  I  have  perfect  confidence  that  God  will  find  a 
way  for  us  out  of  this  difficulty,  and  prove  Himself  a  very 
present  help  in  the  present  trouble.  Why,  you  always 
preach  so  beautifully  about  faith,  Gabriel !  " 

"  I  know  I  do :  but  it  is  so  much  easier  to  preach  than  to 
practise." 

"  It  isn't  easy  to  do  either  on  an  empty  stomach,"  said 
the  practical  Janet :  "  so  let  us  have  supper  at  once !  " 


[184] 


CHAPTER    XIV 

THE    LIVING    OF    GAYTHORNE 

THERE  was  woe  and  lamentation  in  the  parish  of  Gay- 
thorne  over  the  death  of  the  Rector,  who  had  held  the 
incumbency  for  the  last  five-and-thirty  years.  As  he  had 
been  a  man  somewhat  lax  with  regard  to  Catholic  doctrine, 
and  wholly  inartistic  in  respect  to  canonical  form,  Mrs. 
Gaythorne  had  no  anxiety  as  to  his  condition  in  the  future 
state:  but  she  missed  a  friendship  which  had  lasted  through 
the  whole  of  her  life  as  matron  and  widow,  and  she  shrank 
from  the  idea  of  a  new  incumbent  who  would  not  obey  her 
as  implicitly  as  Mr.  Cattley  had  done.  True,  the  latter 
had  suffered  from  occasional  lapses  in  obedience.  There 
was  one  never-to-be-forgotten  occasion  when  he  introduced 
the  custom  of  carrying  out  the  Psalmist's  original  intention 
and  singing  the  songs  of  degrees,  instead  of  reading  them 
aloud  alternately  with  the  congregation :  which  daring  inno- 
vation so  upset  Mrs.  Gaythorne  that  for  some  time  she 
absented  herself  from  her  parish  church  and  attended  a 
Wesleyan  chapel  in  the  neighbourhood.  But  even  here 
the  poor  lady  could  not  long  find  rest  for  her  soul:  for 
when  the  season  for  it  came  round,  the  Wesleyans  thought 
it  meet  and  right  to  offer  a  public  thanksgiving  to  God  for 
the  joy  of  harvest,  and  they  decorated  their  chapel  for  this 
occasion  with  corn  and  flowers.  This  was  too  much  for 

[185] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

Mrs.  Gaythorne.  She  scented  Ritualism  in  every  dahlia, 
Popery  in  every  ear  of  corn:  and  when  she  espied  upon  the 
front  of  the  pulpit  the  Sign  of  her  Salvation  wrought  in 
white  chrysanthemums,  to  bring  before  the  faithful  the 
Symbol  of  their  faith,  she  shook  the  dust  of  the  place  off 
her  feet  for  ever,  and  left  the  chapel  to  re-enter  it  no  more. 
But  she  did  not  go  so  far  as  to  withdraw  her  subscription 
to  the  Wesleyan  Missionary  Society  in  consequence:  in 
which,  perhaps,  she  was  somewhat  inconsistent:  since  the 
object  of  all  missionary  societies  is  to  take  their  part  in 
fulfilling  the  Divine  Command,  to  preach  to  every  creature 
that  Cross  which  was  to  the  Jew  a  stumbling-block  and  to 
the  Greek  foolishness,  and  to  Mrs.  Gaythorne  the  sign- 
manual  of  Rome.  But  her  practices  were  ever  superior  to 
her  precepts:  and  she  always  atoned,  by  the  kindliness  of  her 
conduct,  for  the  cruelty  of  her  creed. 

So  she  returned  into  the  fold  of  her  own  parish,  and 
gradually  forgave  Mr.  Cattley  for  his  unseemly  attempt  to 
carry  out  the  intentions  of  the  original  authors  in  his  pre- 
sentment of  the  Psalms:  but  she  continued  to  read  these 
same  spiritual  songs  in  a  loud  voice  while  the  rest  of  the 
congregation  were  singing  them. 

Once  again  was  Mr.  Cattley  convicted  of  backsliding  by 
the  introduction  of  the  singing  of  those  responses  which 
fall  to  the  people  and  not  to  the  priest.  Mrs.  Gaythorne 
did  not  leave  the  church  again  for  that,  her  recent  experience 
at  the  Wesleyan  chapel  having  made  her  feel  somewhat 
like  Noah's  dove  before  the  abatement  of  the  waters:  but 
she  entered  her  protest  by  still  repeating  the  responses  in 
as  conversational  a  tone  as  she  could  command,  and  begin- 
ning them  a  good  two  seconds  before  anybody  else. 

The  living  of  Gaythorne  was  a  very  good  one,  as  livings 

[186] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

go  nowadays;  five  hundred  a  year  and  an  excellent  rectory: 
and  the  income  was  regular  and  secure,  not  being  dependent 
upon  either  glebe  or  tithes:  so  there  was  much  speculation 
as  to  who  would  be  Mr.  Cattley's  successor. 

"Who  has  the  presentation  to  this  living?"  asked  Fabia 
of  her  husband,  a  few  days  after  the  old  rector's  death. 

"It  belongs  to  me,"  replied  Charlie:  by  which  he  meant 
to  his  mother. 

"I  thought  so:  and  I  want  you  to  give  it  to  Gabriel 
Carr." 

"  Oh,  Fabia!  "  And  poor  Charlie's  distress  was  poignant. 
He  adored  his  wife,  and  would  do  anything  in  reason  that 
she  asked  him ;  but  he  did  wish  she  would  not  ask  him  such 
unreasonable  things. 

Mrs.  Charles  Gaythorne  shrugged  her  shoulders  impa- 
tiently. "  It  is  no  use  saying  '  Oh,  Fabia! '  in  that  timorous 
and  ineffective  tone.  I  have  told  you  what  my  wishes  are, 
and  I  expect  you  to  carry  them  out." 

"But,   Fabia— 

"  But  me  no  buts,  if  you  please.  Surely  you  can  make 
anybody  rector  here  that  you  like,  seeing  that  even  if  you 
cannot  call  your  soul  your  own,  you  can  so  call  the  living 
of  Gaythorne." 

Charlie  winced:  his  wife's  jibes  never  failed  to  touch  him 
on  the  raw.  "  But,  Fabia  darling,  you  must  see  that 
mother  would  never  consent  to  a  high  churchman  being 
appointed  rector  here." 

"  I  thought  you  said  the  living  was  in  your  gift." 

"  I  did,  but " 

"  Then  I  fail  to  see  where  your  mother  comes  in." 

Poor  Charlie  fairly  groaned.  "Oh!  Fabia,  I  really 
couldn't  go  against  my  mother  in  a  thing  like  this.  She 


THE    SUBJECTION 

minds  so  awfully  about  churches  and  services  and  things 
of  that  kind,  that  I  should  feel  a  regular  brute  if  I  didn't 
pan  it  all  out  to  suit  her."  ^ 

Fabia's  lips  curled :  her  husband's  fear  of  his  mother  never 
failed  to  arouse  her  contempt.  "  Then  you  do  not  mind 
going  against  your  wife's  wishes?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,  darling ;  I  mind  most  awfully.  But  can't 
you  understand  that  religion  is  the  mater's  particular  hobby, 
while  it  isn't  yours?  I  mean  you  don't  really  care  about 
high  church  or  low  church  and  all  that  sort  of  business, 
while  it  is  just  meat  and  drink  to  mother.  I  believe  it 
would  kill  her  to  have  a  regular  high  churchman  planted 
down  under  her  very  nose:  she  couldn't  stand  it  at  her 
age." 

"  That  is  simply  absurd.     She  would  soon  get  used  to  it." 

"  Not  she !  I  know  my  mother.  You  can't  remember 
what  an  awful  shindy  she  made  when  old  Cattley  took  to 
bawling  out  the  Psalms  all  together,  instead  of  making 
them  into  a  sort  of  ride-and-tie  business,  turn  and  turn 
about,  as  they  used  to  be.  But  I  can:  and  I  shall  never 
forget  it.  By  Jove,  it  regularly  knocked  her  to  pieces !  " 

Fabia  still  occupied  the  seat  of  the  scornful.  "  I  thought 
the  Psalms  were  meant  to  be  sung:  songs  usually  are." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !  Why,  nobody  ever  thought  of  singing 
them  at  Gaythorne  Church  till  old  Cattley  got  a  ridiculous 
idea  into  his  head  that  it  would  be  an  improvement,  or  some 
idiotic  notion  of  that  kind.  And  it  upset  the  mater  most 
dreadfully.  She  forgave  the  old  fool  after  a  bit,  because 
she  is  so  awfully  Christian  and  charitable  and  all  that,  don't 
you  know?  But  the  church  has  never  been  the  same  to 
her  since.  I  was  quite  a  little  boy  at  the  time,  but  I  remem- 
ber the  fuss." 

[188] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  And  what  did  your  father  say?  " 

"  Oh !  father  did  his  best  to  smooth  her  down ;  said  that 
a  psalm  was  a  psalm,  don't  you  know?  and  comforting 
things  of  that  sort.  But  it  drove  her  to  the  Wesleyan 
Chapel  for  all  that,  for  weeks  and  weeks.  She  used  to  take 
me  with  her,  while  father  stuck  to  the  parish  church,  and 
I  used  to  enjoy  it ;  it  was  a  bit  of  a  change  for  a  little  chap 
whose  nose  was  generally  glued  to  the  prayer-book  in  his 
family  pew." 

Fabia  smiled.  Her  husband's  ideas  and  traditions  never 
failed  to  rouse  her  mirth.  "  Then  did  Mr.  Cattley  ever 
go  so  far  as  to  sing  the  hymns,  or  were  they  also  performed 
on  what  you  call  the  ride-and-tie  principle  in  those  primaeval 
days  ?  "  she  asked. 

Charlie  looked  at  her  in  innocent  amazement.  "  Of 
course  they  sang  the  hymns.  What  are  hymns  for  but  to 
be  sung?  " 

"  The  same  argument  applies  then  to  singing  the  psalms, 
since  psalms  are  hymns." 

"  They  can't  be,  because  they  are  in  the  Prayer-book ;  and 
the  Prayer-book  and  the  Hymn-book  are  quite  different 
books,  don't  you  know?  You  might  as  well  say  that  the 
Army  List  and  the  Racing  Calendar  are  the  same  as  say 
that  the  Prayer-book  and  the  Hymn-book  are." 

"  Well,  then,  you  Anglicans  hold  that  the  Bible  and  the 
Prayer-book  are  very  much  the  same  thing,  don't  you?" 
retorted  Fabia,  who  could  never  resist  the  temptation  to 
wave  the  red  rag  when  she  saw  one  lying  about. 

Her  husband  looked  really  shocked.  "  Good  gracious,  no : 
what  an  idea!  I'm  glad  the  mater  didn't  hear  you  say 
that,  it  would  upset  her  awfully.  Why,  nothing  would 
induce  her  to  read  what  she  calls  her  daily-portion  out  of 

[I89] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

the  Prayer-book  psalms:  she  wouldn't  do  it  for  anything. 
She  always  reads  them  out  of  the  regular  Bible." 

"  I  see." 

"  Why,"  continued  Charles,  waxing  eloquent,  "  when  I 
was  a  little  chap  at  school  she  found  out  that  the  master 
who  took  the  Scripture-form  made  us  learn  some  of  the 
Prayer-book  psalms  by  heart;  and  she  kicked  up  an  awful 
row  about  it:  wrote  to  the  Head,  don't  you  know?  and 
insisted  on  her  son  learning  the  Psalms  as  they  really  were 
in  the  Bible,  or  not  at  all." 

"  That  is  enough  about  the  Psalms,"  said  Fabia,  in  a 
bored  tone  of  voice.  "  What  I  want  to  know  is,  are  you 
going  to  oblige  me  about  the  living  of  Gaythorne,  or  are 
you  not?  In  short,  are  you  going  to  offend  me  or  your 
mother?" 

Charlie  looked — as  indeed  he  felt — absolutely  wretched. 
He  hated  to  deny  his  wife  anything  that  she  desired :  but  the 
alternative  was  by  no  means  an  alluring  one.  He  could  have 
faced  a  charge  of  cavalry  without  turning  a  hair:  but  when 
it  came  to  facing  his  mother  it  was  a  different  thing,  and 
the  flesh  was  weak.  So  he  feebly  temporised.  "  I  don't 
believe  mother  would  ever  stand  Carr's  goings-on — his 
flowers  and  vestments  and  early  services,  and  things  of  that 
kind." 

"  But  she  is  very  fond  of  him,"  said  Fabia,  stooping  to 
argue  with  her  trembling  lord  and  master. 

"  Oh !  that's  quite  a  different  thing.  She  can't  help 
liking  him  as  a  man;  nobody  could:  he  is  such  a  pleasant 
chap,  that  nobody  would  ever  take  him  for  a  clergyman," 
replied  Charlie,  with  unconscious  humour :  "  but  it's  as  a 
parson  that  he  roughs  her  up." 

"  Of  course  you  are  master  in  your  own  house,  and  so 

[  190] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

must  do  as  you  think  fit,"  said  Fabia,  with  a  satirical  smile. 
"  I  have  told  you  my  wishes,  and  there  is  no  more  to  be 
said.  But  I  should  have  imagined  that  you  might  have 
done  it  for  Mr.  Carr's  sake,  if  not  for  mine:  you  must  see 
how  hard  it  is  for  him  to  have  to  give  up  one  living  with  no 
prospect  of  another." 

"Oh!  I'm  sorry  enough  for  Carr;  there's  no  doubt  on 
that  score,"  Charlie  ruefully  replied :  "  he's  a  rattling  good 
fellow,  and  it's  deuced  hard  on  him  to  have  to  chuck  every- 
thing like  this — deuced  hard!  But  all  the  same  I  can't 
have  my  mother's  peace  of  mind  sacrificed  to  him,  and 
there's  an  end  of  it." 

Fabia  rose  from  her  seat  and  left  the  room,  her  clinging 
robes  trailing  gracefully  behind  her.  She  did  not  deign  to 
vouchsafe  another  word  to  her  recalcitrant  husband,  whose 
misery  was  very  real  indeed.  Poor  Charlie!  He  was 
highly  inexperienced  in  hL  management  of  Fabia.  If  he 
had  put  his  foot  down  and  said  that  he  would  not  give  the 
living  to  Carr  because  he  did  not  choose  to  do  so,  she  would 
have  submitted  to  his  decision  with  a  good  grace,  and 
would  have  respected  him  for  knowing  his  own  mind,  even 
if  it  did  not  coincide  with  hers;  but  when  he  refused  to  do 
so  on  the  ground  that  his  mother  did  not  wish  it,  he  threw 
over  his  prestige  as  a  husband  and  lowered  himself  in  his 
wife's  eyes.  A  wise  man  never  backs  up  his  marital  author- 
ity by  quotations  from  any  woman — not  even  from  his  own 
mother:  for  wives  despise  a  constitutional  government,  and 
at  heart  love  the  despot  who  rules  them  by  divine  right; 
provided,  of  course,  that  he  is  not  too  despotic,  and  does  not 
take  undue  advantage  of  his  kingship.  And  they  invariably 
support  the  Salic  law,  and  will  have  no  woman — not  even 
a  mother-in-law — to  reign  over  them. 


THE    SUBJECTION 

Now,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  Fabia  understood  Mrs. 
Gaythorne  a  great  deal  better  than  Charlie  did.  She  knew 
that  underneath  the  ferocity  of  that  lady's  creed  was  con- 
cealed the  tenderest  of  hearts,  and  that  the  worthy  woman's 
doings  were  as  overflowing  with  charity  as  her  doctrines 
were  the  reverse:  so  she  retailed  to  Mrs.  Gaythorne  the 
exhaustive  account  of  Gabriel's  afflictions  which  she  had 
received  by  letter  from  Isabel  Seaton;  and  left  the  seed  thus 
sown  to  bear  fruit  accordingly. 

Charlie's  mother,  though  an  excellent  woman  and  a  con- 
sistent Christian,  was  most  delightfully  human;  and  conse- 
quently she  was  so  much  pleased  with  Gabriel  for  having 
ruined  his  health  (as  she  believed)  by  his  high-church 
practices,  thereby  proving  that  she  was  righteous  in  her 
judgments  and  justified  in  her  sayings,  that  she  completely 
forgave  the  sinner  in  contemplating  the  satisfactory  results 
of  the  sin.  So,  after  hearing  several  times  the  full  account 
of  poor  Gabriel's  overthrow,  as  written  by  Isabel  and  illus- 
trated by  Fabia,  she  went  to  spend  a  day  with  her  old 
friend,  Eveline  Carr,  in  order  to  see  for  herself  how  the 
land  lay. 

Mrs.  Carr  and  Mrs.  Gaythorne  were  friends  of  long 
standing  and  were  warmly  attached  to  each  other — all  the 
more  warmly  because  they  did  not  understand  one  another 
in  the  very  least.  Many  sincere  and  constant  friendships 
are  thus  founded  upon  a  basis  of  profound  and  mutual 
misunderstanding.  We  are  all  of  us  prone  to  esteem  certain 
people  for  qualities  which  they  do  not — and  never  have 
pretended  to — possess:  but  we,  in  the  vain  imagination  of 
our  hearts,  have  endowed  them  with  these  qualities,  and 
feel  affection  for  them  accordingly.  Mrs.  Gaythorne  loved 
Mrs.  Carr  for  being  a  mystic  of  deep  and  clear  spiritual 

[  192] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

perceptions,  with  an  intuitive  conception  of  the  mysteries 
of  evangelical  dogma;  while  Mrs.  Carr  reverenced  Mrs. 
Gaythorne  as  a  broad-minded  and  experienced  woman  of  the 
world,  equally  conversant  with  the  wisdom  of  God  and  the 
foolishness  of  man. 

"  This  is  an  unfortunate  business,  Gabriel,  that  I  heard 
from  Isabel  Seaton  about  your  health,"  began  Mrs.  Gay- 
thorne, when  the  preliminary  greetings  were  over  and  the 
party  had  seated  themselves  at  what  was  Mrs.  Gaythorne's 
lunch  and  the  Carrs'  dinner.  "  A  very  unfortunate  busi- 
ness !  "  Some  people  would  have  left  the  discussion  of 
unpleasant  subjects  until  the  meal  was  over;  but  that  was 
not  Mrs.  Gaythorne's  way.  What  she  had  to  say,  she 
said,  regardless  of  any  other  consideration  whatsoever.  She 
was  a  woman  distinguished  by  singleness  of  purpose  and 
freedom  of  utterance. 

Gabriel  sighed.  "  It  is  a  great  trouble  and  a  bitter  disap- 
pointment to  me  to  have  to  give  up  S.  Etheldreda's :  I  can 
assure  you  of  that,  Mrs.  Gaythorne." 

"Then  why  talk  about  it?"  interrupted  Janet.  "I 
never  see  the  use  of  talking  about  disagreeable  things,  espe- 
cially at  meal-times." 

Mrs.  Gaythorne  turned  upon  her  a  look  of  reproach.  "  I 
have  come  here  for  the  sole  purpose  of  talking  about  it,  Janet 
Field,  so  it  must  be  talked  about,  meal-time  or  no  meal-time. 
I  cannot  consider  the  meat  that  perisheth  when  I  have 
Gabriel's  soul  under  my  consideration." 

But  Janet  had  her  reply  ready.  "  It  was  Gabriel's  body 
that  I  was  thinking  about,  Mrs.  Gaythorne;  and  as  his  soul 
just  now  is  in  a  far  better  condition  than  his  body,  I  think 
it  is  the  latter  that  should  claim  our  attention." 

"  Still,  dearest  Janet,"  said  Mrs.  Carr,  feeling  electricity 

[  193] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

in  the  air  and  being  intent  on  peace ;  "  a  body  without  a  soul 
is  not  of  much  avail  even  in  a  country  parish  with  no  daily 
service  and  the  Litany  on  Wednesdays  and  Fridays,  which 
is  what  I  crave  for  my  boy  just  now,  complete  rest  and 
absence  from  all  worry  being  the  thing  prescribed:  though 
I  admit  that  when  one  scents  the  sound  of  danger  one 
should  profit  by  the  warning,  and  husband  the  lost  strength 
until  it  has  regained  its  accustomed  tone  and  vigour." 

"  I  am  rfot  surprised,"  replied  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  saying 
what  she  had  come  to  say:  "What  could  any  man  expect 
from  daily  services  and  all  the  other  performances  at  S. 
Etheldreda's  but  a  complete  breakdown  in  his  health?  I 
knew  it  would  come  to  this  from  the  very  beginning,  and 
it  has."  The  good  lady  conveyed  the  impression  that  if  it 
had  not,  she  would  have  been  as  much  disappointed  as  the 
prophet  Jonah  at  the  sparing  of  Nineveh. 

Gabriel  wras  distinctly  amused:  Mrs.  Gaythorne  never 
made  him  angry.  "  I  did  the  little  I  could,  and  am  thank- 
ful that  my  health  allowed  me  to  do  as  much  as  I  did:  but  I 
grieve  sorely  that  it  prevents  me  from  doing  more." 

"There  is  nothing  to  grieve  over  in  that,  Gabriel  Carr: 
be  thankful  you  are  prevented  from  doing  any  more  mis- 
chief in  that  benighted  parish,  instead  of  fretting  that  you 
are  prevented  from  doing  any  more  good." 

"  I  will  gladly  raise  that  Te  Deum,  Mrs.  Gaythorne," 
replied  the  persecuted  Vicar,  stifling  a  laugh:  "  but,  all  the 
same,  I  did  my  best." 

"According  to  your  lights,"  added  Mrs.  Gaythorne, 
amending  his  sentence. 

"  Certainly :  I  accept  the  emendation.  But  no  one  can 
act  save  according  to  his  lights:  you  cannot  yourself,  Mrs. 
Gaythorne." 

[  194] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  But  I  take  care  to  see  that  my  lights  are  the  right 
lights:  that  makes  all  the  difference." 

"How  do  you  know  that  they  are  the  right  lights?" 
asked  Janet. 

The  lady  looked  at  her  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger. 
"  What  an  absurd  question,  Janet  Field !  How  do  I  know 
that  the  sun  is  shining  above  our  heads?  " 

"  You  don't,"  retorted  Janet :  "  because,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  it  isn't.  There  is  no  above  or  below  in  space." 

Mrs.  Gaythorne  shook  her  head  reproachfully.  "  Janet 
Field,  I  perceive  you  are  becoming  a  freethinker,  if  not  an 
atheist:  and  that  is  quite  as  bad,  if  not  worse,  than  being 
high  church.  I  do  not  approve  of  young  people  filling  their 
heads  with  all  these  modern  speculations." 

But  Janet  held  her  ground.  "  It  is  not  modern  at  all : 
it  is  a  notion  that  dates  from  the  days  of  De  Quincey,  not 
to  say  from  the  foundation  of  the  world.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber that  magnificent  passage  of  his  where  he  says  that 
among  the  constellations  '  above  was  below,  below  was 
above:  depth  was  swallowed  up  in  height  insurmountable, 
height  was  swallowed  up  in  depth  unfathomable  '  ?  It  ia 
one  of  the  finest  paragraphs  ever  written." 

"I  do  not  approve  of  De  Quincey:  he  took  too  much  of 
something.  I  forget  what  it  was,  but  I  know  he  would 
have  been  a  great  deal  better  without  it." 

"  Still,"  argued  Janet,  "  he  proved  that  there  are  really 
no  such  things  as  height  and  depth  in  space." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,"  replied  the  Indomitable.  "  He 
proved  that  he  did  not  know  the  difference  between  above 
and  below  himself:  but  there  was  nothing  remarkable  in 
that:  persons  who  take  too  much  of  anything  frequently 
confuse  the  two." 

[195] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

"Hear,  hear!"  cried  Gabriel,  in  applause;  "in  this 
respect  the  meeting  is  entirely  with  you." 

"  Besides,"  Mrs.  Gaythorne  continued,  triumphantly,  "  if 
there  is  not  an  above  or  below,  there  cannot  be  a  Heaven 
or  Hell:  and  if  that  is  so,  what  is  to  become  of  us  all,  I 
should  like  to  know  ?  " 

Gabriel  laughed  outright.  Mrs.  Gaythorne's  theology 
never  failed  to  afford  him  the  keenest  pleasure. 

Here  the  hostess  thought  it  time  to  interfere,  as  she  was 
afraid  that  the  young  people  were  not  showing  proper 
respect  to  their  guest.  "  Of  course,  dear  Mrs.  Gaythorne, 
as  you  say,  we  couldn't  possibly  do  without  Heaven  and 
Hell,  both  as  a  punishment  and  an  inducement,  modern 
theology  being  so  lax  in  matters  of  doctrine,  although  very 
charitable  in  all  good  works;  and  though  we  are  expressly 
told  that  the  spirit  matters  quite  as  much  as  the  letter,  yet 
we  must  pay  attention  to  the  articles  of  our  faith,  or  else 
where  should  we  be?  " 

"  I  would  rather  not  express  an  opinion,"  answered  Mrs. 
Gaythorne :  "  all  I  can  say  is,  that  I  feel  sure  De  Quincey 
knows  the  difference  well  enough  by  now,  and  wishes  that 
he  had  not  taken  quite  so  much  of  that  stuff  that  made  him 
confuse  the  two." 

Gabriel  and  Janet  were  rocking  themselves  to  and  fro 
in  a  silent  ecstasy  of  mirth :  but  their  levity  fortunately  was 
hid  from  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  who  calmly  continued:  "And 
now  that  my  prognostications  have  been  fulfilled  and  you 
have  ruined  your  health  by  your  empty  forms  and  cere- 
monies, I  want  to  know  what  you  are  going  to  do  for  a 
living,  Gabriel  Carr?" 

"  That  is  just  what  I  want  to  know  myself,  Mrs.  Gay- 
thorne. I  have  no  private  means  at  all,  and  my  mother  has 

[I96] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

only  just  enough  to  keep  herself  and  Janet:  so  that  now  I 
have  been  compelled  to  resign  the  living  of  S.  Etheldreda's 
there  seems  nothing  before  me  but  the  workhouse." 

"  I  never  approved  of  the  name  of  that  church,"  said 
Mrs.  Gaythorne.  "  I  never  approve  of  any  saints  that  do 
not  come  out  of  the  Bible:  they  seem  to  me  popish." 

"  Gabriel  didn't  christen  the  church,"  suggested  Janet, 
in  extenuation. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that.  All  I  say  is  that  I  do 
not  approve  of  fancy  saints." 

"  Yet  the  lives  of  some  of  them  were  very  beautiful," 
said  Mrs.  Carr;  "  think  of  S.  Francis  of  Assisi  preaching  to 
the  birds  as  he  sat  on  a  gridiron  heated  seven  times  hotter, 
if  it  wasn't  S.  Laurence,  which  I  almost  think  it  was ;  and 
then  S.  Catherine,  whirling  round  on  fireworks  till  she  was 
burned  up:  and  S.  Sebastian  pierced  all  over  with  arrows, 
which  had  poisoned  heads  and  barbed  points.  Surely  all 
these  set  us  a  beautiful  example,  though  of  course  to  be 
adapted  to  modern  needs,  manners  and  customs  being  so 
different  now  to  what  they  were  then,  and  arrows  and 
gridirons  being  used  for  such  different  purposes  or  not 
at  all." 

"  I  should  like  a  few  words  alone  with  Gabriel,"  said 
Mrs.  Gaythorne,  when  lunch  was  over.  It  was  not  her 
custom  to  beat  about  the  bush  and  intrigue  for  tete-a-tetes, 
as  it  is  the  custom  of  some  women.  So  Mrs.  Carr  and 
Janet  retired,  and  left  the  two  others  together. 

"  Now,  Gabriel,"  the  lady  began,  "  you  have  brought  this 
illness  upon  yourself  by  your  own  foolishness:  there  is  no 
doubt  on  that  score:  but  what  is  done  is  done,  and  it  is  no 
good  harping  on  it  any  further.  The  thing  we  have  to 
consider,  is  what  is  to  be  done  now." 

[  197] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

"  Precisely,  Mrs.  Gaythorne :  that  is  what  I  have  been 
considering  for  several  weeks,  and  I  am  as  far  away  from 
any  conclusion  as  I  was  when  I  began." 

"  Then  I  am  not.  I  have  decided  to  tell  my  son  Charles 
to  confer  upon  you  the  living  of  Gaythorne." 

Gabriel  was  dumbfoundered.  He  understood  perhaps  bet- 
ter than  anyone  what  it  must  have  cost  Mrs.  Gaythorne  to 
make  this  decision;  and  he  felt  almost  overpowered  by  the 
magnitude  of  her  sacrifice. 

"  But,  dear  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  consider  what  you  are 
doing." 

"  I  have  considered.  I  am  not  one  to  act  without  due 
consideration." 

"  I  am  not  of  your  way  of  thinking  upon  many  subjects." 

"  No  one  knows  that  better  than  I  do." 

"  And  though  I  would  do  anything  in  my  power  to  please 
you,  dear  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  I  could  not  put  aside  my  own 
convictions  for  you  or  for  anybody.  I  mean  that  if  I  were 
appointed  to  the  living  of  Gaythorne,  I  should  feel  it  my 
duty  to  conduct  the  worship  of  God  as  I  believe  He  has 
ordained,  and  not  as  I  think  my  parishioners  desire.  In 
some  things  a  minister  of  religion  is  the  servant  of  all,  but 
in  others  he  owes  no  allegiance  to  any  but  to  the  Master 
Himself,  and  to  Him  alone  he  is  responsible;  and  I  believe 
that  the  form  in  which  he  worships  the  Master  is  one 
of  these  latter  things.  I  want  you  fully  to  understand 
this  before  you  allow  your  son  to  appoint  me  Rector  of 
Gaythorne." 

"  I  do  fully  understand  it.  I  know  you  well  enough  to 
be  aware  that  you  are  as  obstinate  as  possible  where  your 
conscience  is  concerned:  as  obstinate  as  I  am  myself:  and  I 
respect  you  for  it." 

[198] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

Gabriel  could  hardly  forbear  smiling.  "  And  yet  you 
wish  me  to  become  Rector  of  Gaythorne  ?  " 

"  I  do,  although  I  know  that  you  will  do  many  things 
of  which  I  heartily  disapprove,  and  that  you  will  count 
them  to  yourself  for  righteousness.  But  as  I  grow  older  I 
am  beginning  to  see  that  the  spirit  is  of  vastly  more  import- 
ance than  the  letter;  and  that  it  is  possible  to  serve  God  in 
various  ways,  though  I  never  shall  believe  that  one  way  is 
quite  as  acceptable  to  Him  as  another.  But  I  have  learnt 
to  say  from  my  heart  '  Grace  be  to  all  them  that  love  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  in  sincerity,'  even  though  they  show  their 
love  in  ways  that  personally  I  have  no  sympathy  with;  and 
I  do  believe  that  you  love  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  in  sincerity, 
although  I  admit  that  you  are  prone  to  display  your  devotion 
in  an  extremely  undesirable  fashion.  Therefore  I  shall  com- 
mand my  son  to  offer  you  the  living  of  Gaythorne,  since  I 
believe  it  will  be  better  for  the  parish  to  be  ruled  by  a  mis- 
guided man  who  truly  loves  God,  than  by  one  of  my  own 
way  of  thinking  who  does  not." 

Gabriel's  eyes  rilled  with  tears  of  gratitude  as  he  took  his 
old  friend's  hand  and  kissed  it.  "  I  can  never  express  in 
words  what  I  feel  about  this  matter,  Mrs.  Gaythorne.  I 
am  not  only  profoundly  grateful  to  you  for  thus  coming  to 
my  help  in  a  time  of  sore  need,  but  I  am  even  more  grateful 
for  the  testimony  you  bear  to  my  efforts  in  the  past  to  do 
what  is  right,  by  offering  me  the  charge  of  your  own  parish 
to  a  man  who  does  not  see  by  any  means  eye  to  eye  with 
you  on  many  religious  questions.  And  I  swear  to  you  that 
I  will  do  all  in  my  power  to  prevent  you  from  ever  regretting 
the  choice  into  which  you  have  been  led  by  the  kindness  of 
your  warm  and  loving  heart;  so  help  me  God." 

Thus  Gabriel  went  on  his  way,  and  the  angels  of  God  met 

[199] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

him  in  the  forms  of  Janet  Field  and  Mrs.  Gaythorne;  and 
the  Lord  sent  him  bread  and  meat,  as  well  as  the  spiritual 
comfort  of  the  still  small  voice.  So  he  went  forward  rejoic- 
ing, little  dreaming  of  the  darkness  of  desolation  which 
awaited  him. 


[  20O  ] 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE    LOST    RECTOR 

GABRIEL  had  not  long  been  appointed  Rector  of  Gaythorne 
before  he  became  engaged  to  Janet  Field;  and  he  had  not 
long  been  engaged  to  Janet  Field  before  he  married  her.  It 
was  a  quiet  wedding  in  the  little  village  in  the  Midlands 
where  his  mother  lived:  and  as  it  was  now  November,  the 
newly-married  pair  went  south  for  their  honeymoon,  in  order 
to  catch  the  last  flutter  of  autumn's  skirts  before  she  faded 
into  winter  altogether. 

Janet  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight.  To  be 
Gabriel's  wife  was  to  her  the  summit  of  earthly  bliss — the 
one  supreme  happiness  which  she  had  dreamed  of  ever  since 
her  girlhood  as  too  absolutely  ideal  ever  to  be  realised. 
Gabriel  also  was  content,  in  that  peaceful  fashion  which — 
to  a  highly-strung  temperament — is  far  more  satisfying  than 
any  fiercer  emotion. 

Fabia  was  greatly  annoyed  at  the  marriage  of  the  new 
Rector.  Had  she  known  he  would  bring  a  helpmeet  with 
him  to  the  Rectory,  she  would  not  have  moved  heaven  and 
earth  to  compass  his  appointment.  She  still  loved  him — 
loved  him  all  the  more  for  his  rejection  of  herself:  but  she 
hated  his  wife  with  the  intense  hatred  of  the  woman  scorned 
for  her  successful  rival.  It  is  a  noteworthy  fact  that  a 
woman  can  forgive  a  rival  who  is  better-looking  than  her- 
self far  sooner  than  one  who  is  not  so  well-favoured.  Beauty 

[  201  ] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

is  the  one  thing  in  which  women  acknowledge  each  other's 
superiority:  .the  woman  who  is  more  attractive  and  yet  not 
so  handsome  as  another  is  beyond  the  pale  of  pardon.  There- 
fore the  beautiful  and  distinguished  Fabia  could  not  forgive 
the  ordinary-looking  girl  \vho  had  won  the  love  of  Gabriel 
Carr  after  she  herself  had  forfeited  it. 

Moreover,  Fabia  had  found  her  own  husband  utterly 
incapable  of  supplying  her  intellectual  needs:  and  she  had 
imagined  that  Gabriel,  as  a  spiritual  adviser,  might  help  to 
fill  the  vacuum  thus  created.  But  to  the  woman  who  regards 
the  confessional  as  a  luxury  rather  than  as  a  discipline,  a 
married  confessor  is  not  nearly  so  satisfactory  as  a  single 
one;  a  strong  argument  in  favour  of  (or,  perhaps,  against) 
the  celibacy  of  the  clergy.  Finding  her  hopes  of  Gabriel's 
supporting  friendship  fruitless,  Fabia  took  to  writing  long 
letters  to  her  cousin,  Ram  Chandar,  confiding  to  him  her 
unsatisfied  longings  for  suitable  intellectual  companionship, 
and  begging  him  to  come  to  England  to  console  and  help  her. 
At  first  he  refused,  being  offended  by  her  marriage,  but  it 
was  not  long  before  she  thought  she  saw  unmistakable  signs 
of  his  relenting. 

Mrs.  Gaythorne  was  delighted  about  Gabriel's  marriage. 
She  was  one  of  the  women  who  heartily  approve  of  matri- 
mony, and  highly  disapprove  of  the  reverse:  an  old  maid 
was  always  visited  with  her  severest  censure:  and  she  meted 
out  as  unqualified  a  condemnation  to  the  woman  who  did 
not  marry  as  to  the  woman  who  ate  and  drank  anything 
between  meals. 

Gabriel  and  Janet  went  for  their  honeymoon  to  a  little 
inn  on  the  borders  of  Dartmoor;  and  revelled  in  the  exqui- 
site and  yet  awe-inspiring  scenery  of  that  part  of  England's 
most  beautiful  county  to  their  hearts'  content:  discussing  at 

[  2O2  ] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

the  same  time  every  subject  under  the  sun  and  above  it,  in 
the  delightful  intimacy  and  comradeship  of  married  life. 
It  is  only  when  the  twain  are  one  mind  as  well  as  one  flesh 
that  the  true  happiness  of  marriage  is  realised :  and  this  was 
the  case  with  Gabriel  and  his  wife. 

"  The  only  thing  that  I  don't  like  about  Dartmoor  is  the 
prison,"  remarked  Janet,  one  day,  as  they  were  sitting 
together  in  the  twilight,  which  now  seemed  to  come  almost 
in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  "  I  hate  to  think  of  all 
those  wicked  people  being  so  near  us." 

"Poor  souls!  I'm  sorry  for  them,  whoever  they  may 
be,"  said  the  sympathetic  Gabriel,  "  and  whatever  they  may 
have  done." 

But  Janet  was  not  made  of  such  slight  elements.  "  I'm 
not :  and  I  daresay  you  wouldn't  be  if  you  knew  more  about 
them." 

"  Yes,  I  should,  my  love :  I  should  be  all  the  sorrier." 

Janet  shook  her  small  brown  head  slowly.  "  I'm  never 
very  sorry  for  people  who  bring  things  on  themselves.  If 
they  do  wrong,  they  ought  to  be  punished." 

"  And  they  generally  are,  my  child.  God  may  forgive, 
but  Nature  and  the  world  never  do." 

"  And  quite  right,  too !  "  Janet  could  be  very  hard  upon 
occasion. 

"  You  can  never  judge  any  man's  sins  until  you  know 
what  his  temptations  have  been,  Janet:  and  as  only  God 
knows  that,  only  God  can  judge.  The  newspapers  can  tell 
us  what  some  poor  wretch  has  done,  who  is  now  being  pun- 
ished for  his  sins  in  that  gloomy  prison ;  but  only  God  could 
tell  us  how  sorely  he  has  been  tempted,  and  how  often  he 
resisted  temptation  before  he  finally  fell.  And  God  will 
remember  it  to  his  credit  when  the  day  of  reckoning  comes." 

[203] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

"  But  some  of  the  prisoners  have  been  very  wicked 
people." 

"  So  they  may  have  been :  but  we  do  not  know  that  we 
should  have  turned  out  any  better  had  we  their  temptations 
and  been  put  in  their  place." 

Janet  looked  horrified  at  the  bare  suggestion.  "  I  don't 
think  that  it  is  likely  that  we  should  take  to  flat  bur- 
glary." 

"  No:  that  would  not  be  any  temptation  to  people  brought 
up  as  we  have  been,  my  dearest.  But  we  may  be  beset  by 
other  temptations  which  will  prove  too  strong  for  us.  I 
think  there  is  no  text  which  is  more  necessary  to  be  con- 
stantly borne  in  mind  by  (so-called)  good  people  than,  '  Let 
him  that  thinketh  he  standeth  take  heed  lest  he  fall ' :  for 
it  is  when  we  are  most  certain  of  our  firm  footing  on  the 
narrow  way  that  the  danger  of  falling  is  at  its  zenith." 

"  Well,  anyhow  I'm  sure  that  no  temptation  would  ever 
be  strong  enough  to  make  you  do  anything  wrong,  Gabriel." 

"  My  darling,  my  darling,  how  little  you  know  me !  Do 
you  remember  the  story  of  holy  John  Bradford,  who,  on 
seeing  a  murderer  being  led  to  the  gallows,  exclaimed, 
'There,  but  for  the  grace  of  God,  goes  John  Bradford'? 
When  I  was  in  the  East  End  I  never  saw  any  poor  wretch 
being  taken  up  by  the  police  without  saying  to  myself, 
'  There,  but  for  the  grace  of  God,  goes  Gabriel  Carr  ' !  " 

"  Dearest,  I  hate  to  hear  you  say  such  things." 

"  I  cannot  help  that,  Janet.  You  must  know  me  as  what 
I  am,  and  not  as  what  you  think  I  ought  to  be." 

"  I  know  that  you  are  one  of  the  best  men  that  ever 
lived." 

Gabriel  smiled  and  stroked  the  brown  head  that  was 
leaning  against  his  knee:  for  Janet — unlike  Isabel  Seaton — 

[204] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

had  hair  that  was  never  the  worse  for  any  amount  of  strok- 
ing. But  even  though  a  man  may  smile  at  the  extrava- 
gance of  his  wife's  admiration  for  himself,  it  has  an 
extremely  soothing  effect  upon  him:  the  doctrine  of  infalli- 
bility of  the  husband  is  a  very  comfortable  one  both  to  wor- 
shipper and  worshipped — so  much  so  that  it  is  a  pity  it  has 
gone,  to  a  great  extent,  out  of  fashion. 

"  I  am  far  from  being  one  of  the  best  men  that  ever  lived, 
my  dear,"  he  said :  "  but  all  the  same  it  is  rather  nice  to 
know  that  you  think  I  am." 

"  I  shall  always  think  so." 

"  I  believe  you  will,  my  Janet:  and,  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, it  is  a  most  comforting  heresy.  But  all  the  same, 
you  must  learn  not  to  judge  other  people  so  harshly.  I 
think  it  is  very  difficult  for  a  really  good  woman  not  to  be 
rather  hard :  nevertheless  she  ought  not  to  be." 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  hard,  Gabriel  ?  " 

"  Just  a  little,  my  dearest :  because  you  are  so  good."  And 
he  bent  down  and  kissed  the  little  round  face  raised  in  such 
profound  adoration  to  his.  "  You  see,"  he  continued,  "  it 
is  never  safe  to  feel  oneself  safe  from  any  particular  tempta- 
tion. The  question,  '  Is  thy  servant  a  dog,  that  he  should 
do  this  thing?'  is  frequently  answered  by  the  servant  doing 
the  very  thing  that  he  condemned  as  dog-like.  I  have  seen 
this  happen  over  and  over  again  in  my  experience  as  a  parish- 
priest.  Whenever  I  heard  a  man  say,  *  Oh !  such  and  such 
a  thing  may  be  dangerous  for  certain  persons,  but  I  can  do 
it  with  impunity,'  I  know  that  the  devil  has  made  every- 
thing ready  for  the  overthrow  of  that  particular  man." 

"  But  surely,  Gabriel,  no  man  is  tempted  above  that  which 
he  is  able  to  bear.  We  are  expressly  told  that  a  way  of 
escape  is  always  provided." 

[205] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

"  So  it  is ;  but  it  does  not  follow  that  we  shall  always  be 
willing  to  avail  ourselves  of  that  way.  Therefore  I  hold 
that  it  is  necessary  for  the  best  of  men,  as  for  the  worst,  to 
raise  to  Heaven  the  daily  petition,  '  Lead  us  not  into  tempta- 
tion ' :  for  we  have  to  be  in  the  thick  of  temptation  before 
we  realise  how  irresistible  it  is." 

Thus  Gabriel  and  Janet  passed  the  long  evening  in  hold- 
ing sweet  converse  about  all  the  deeper  interests  of  life :  they 
"  reasoned  high  of  providence,  foreknowledge,  will,  and 
fate,"  and  everything  else  that  concerned  their  truest  welfare. 

The  next  day  was  wet  and  inclined  to  be  misty.  There 
was  not  much  good  or  much  pleasure  to  be  derived  from 
going  out  in  such  raw,  damp  weather;  but  the  holiday  was 
so  near  its  conclusion  that  the  newly-wedded  pair  felt  they 
could  not  squander  any  of  the  few  remaining  hours  of  their 
honeymoon  by  spending  them  in  the  house :  so  they  were  out 
on  the  moor  all  morning  in  spite  of  driving  rain  and  mist. 
But  it  requires  more  than  feminine  fortitude  to  be  wet 
through  twice  in  one  day:  so  after  lunch  Janet  decided  that 
she  really  could  not  brave  the  inclement  elements  again, 
especially  as  there  was  no  special  object  to  be  gained  by  so 
doing.  Gabriel  therefore  went  out  for  a  good  spin  across 
the  moor  by  himself,  leaving  Janet  to  amuse  herself  with  an 
interesting  book  until  his  return,  and  faithfully  promising 
to  be  back  in  time  for  tea.  He  loved  to  be  in  solitude  upon 
that  wild  stretch  of  country:  there  was  something  in  the 
atmosphere  of  the  moor  which  appealed  to  one  side  of  his 
nature — the  side  which  Janet  could  not  understand. 

Different  phases  of  natural  scenery  call  forth  various 
emotions  of  the  human  heart.  When  we  wander  upon  the 
seashore,  we  feel  a  restless  sadness  and  an  unsatisfied  long- 
ing quivering  within  us:  when  we  tread  the  leafy  glades  of 

[206] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

a  forest,  thoughts  of  romance  and  heroism  stir  our  blood: 
dreams  of  simple  joys  and  domestic  happiness  delight  us,  as 
we  look  down  upon  a  rural  landscape  of  cornfields  and 
meadows  and  red-roofed  homesteads:  whilst  we  seem  to 
come  within  reach  of  the  great  secrets  of  eternity,  when  we 
stand  under  the  shadow  of  the  everlasting  hills.  And  in 
the  same  way  wild  stretches  of  moorland  call  up  an  answer- 
ing spirit  within  us:  but  it  is  not  a  spirit  which  makes  for 
righteousness  and  peace.  The  spirit  of  the  moorland  is  a 
fierce,  untutored  spirit,  with  the  restlessness  of  the  sea  with- 
out its  sanctifying  sadness,  and  with  the  mystery  of  the 
mountains  without  their  soul-restoring  peace.  Demons  that 
would  shrivel  into  nothingness  before  the  awful  mysterious- 
ness  of  sea  or  mountain,  fly  shrieking  over  the  moorland  to 
their  evil  hearts'  content:  witches  that  would  be  powerless 
to  withstand  the  spell  of  homestead  or  forest,  ride  recklessly 
upon  the  swirling  blasts  that  sweep  across  the  heath.  True, 
the  moorlands  have  their  fascination  for  those  who  under- 
stand them;  but  it  is  the  fascination  of  evil  rather  than  of 
good :  for  evil  is  strong  in  those  desert  places,  and  the  powers 
of  darkness  hold  high  carnival  there.  One  can  imagine  the 
scapegoat,  with  his  necklet  of  scarlet,  dashing  to  and  fro 
across  the  dreary  scene;  or  the  child,  whose  hand  was 
doomed  to  be  against  every  man,  wandering  with  his  out- 
cast mother  across  the  barren  waste.  And  surely  He,  Who 
knew  what  was  in  man,  knew  this  also — knew  that  the 
spirit  of  the  waste  places  of  the  earth  was  at  war  with  the 
Spirit  of  God,  and  that  evil  had  more  power  in  the  desert 
than  on  the  shores  of  Gennesaret  and  in  the  groves  of  Olivet 
— when  He  went  apart  into  the  wilderness,  there  to 
be  tempted  of  the  devil. 

After  Gabriel  had  gone  out,  Janet  was  so  much  absorbed 

[207] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

in  her  book  that  for  an  hour  or  so  she  never  even  looked  out 
of  the  window;  but  when  at  last  she  did  so,  she  was  some- 
what disturbed  to  see  that  the  mist  had  turned  into  a  thick 
fog.  This  did  not,  however,  unduly  distress  her,  partly 
because  she  was  not  a  woman  with  a  genius  for  worry,  and 
partly  because  her  husband  knew  the  moor  so  well  that  she 
believed  he  would  have  been  able  to  find  his  way  across  it 
blindfold.  But  when  tea-time  came,  and  no  Gabriel,  she 
began  to  feel  anxious:  and  when  dinner-time  came,  and 
still  no  Gabriel,  she  felt  more  anxious  still:  and  when  at 
last  bed-time  came,  and  he  had  not  returned,  her  distress  of 
mind  was  very  great  indeed.  The  innkeeper  and  his  wife 
were  deeply  concerned  and  extremely  sympathetic;  but  they 
pointed  out  to  Janet  that  it  would  be  useless,  and  worse 
than  useless,  to  send  men  out  to  seek  for  her  lost  husband 
in  such  a  fog  as  this,  as  it  was  now  so  thick  that  even  a  lan- 
tern could  not  be  seen  for  more  than  a  yard  in  front.  They 
assured  the  half-distraught  little  bride  that  her  husband — 
finding  it  hopeless  to  make  his  way  back  through  the  fog — 
had  doubtless  taken  refuge  in  some  shepherd's  hut  or  shel- 
tered spot,  and  would  remain  there  until  the  fog  lifted :  and 
with  this  poor  Janet  had  to  be  content,  although  no  sleep 
visited  her  eyes  that  night.  The  poor  girl  never  even 
attempted  to  go  to  bed ;  but  sat  up  all  night  long  alternately 
crying  and  praying  for  Gabriel. 

Next  morning  the  fog  had  cleared;  and  search  parties 
were  immediately  organized  to  go  in  quest  of  the  lost  bride- 
groom. All  day  long  they  scoured  the  moor,  but  alas!  with 
no  result:  not  a  trace  of  the  missing  man  could  they  find. 
The  assistance  of  the  police  was  soon  called  in,  but  was 
likewise  of  no  avail:  Gabriel  Carr  seemed  to  have  been 
swept  off  the  face  of  the  earth. 

[208] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

Janet's  agony  was  almost  more  than  she  could  bear.  It 
seemed  too  cruel  to  have  attained,  after  years  of  hope 
deferred,  her  heart's  desire,  only  to  have  the  cup  dashed 
from  her  lips  at  the  very  moment  of  fruition.  Of  course 
she  telegraphed  to  her  husband's  friends:  and  Captain  Gay- 
thorne  and  his  mother  came  to  her  at  once.  Poor  Mrs. 
Carr  was  so  prostrated  by  the  news  of  her  son's  disappear- 
ance that  she  was  confined  to  her  bed  and  unable  to  travel : 
but  Mrs.  Gaythorne  was  a  rock  in  times  of  trouble,  and 
Janet  was  more  thankful  to  her  than  she  could  express. 

Yet  even  Mrs.  Gaythorne  was  unable  to  find  the  missing 
Rector. 

All  the  searchers  comforted  Janet  with  the  assurance  that 
if — as  she  feared — her  husband  had  lost  his  life  upon  the 
moor,  some  trace  of  his  body  must  have  been  found.  There 
are  no  glaciers  upon  Dartmoor,  as  there  are  in  Switzerland, 
down  which  a  man  may  fall  headlong,  leaving  no  trace 
behind :  and  as  no  one  could  have  walked  fast  in  such  a  fog, 
he  really  would  not  have  had  time  to  go  so  very  far  afield 
before  the  fog  lifted  and  he  could  see  his  way  about  again. 
But  if  he  were  still  alive,  what  had  become  of  him  ?  What 
was  he  doing  whilst  his  newly-made  wife  was  eating  her 
very  heart  out  for  want  of  him?  That  was  the  question 
which  no  one  could  answer:  at  least  no  one  who  was  igno- 
rant of  what  powers  of  darkness  had  been  let  loose  that  night 
upon  Dartmoor  to  work  their  wicked  will:  no  one  who 
knew  not  how  Good  and  Evil  had  met  and  fought  together 
in  that  wilderness,  and  how  Evil  had  won  the  day  and 
had  prevailed. 

Mrs.  Gaythorne  was  as  loving  as  any  mother  to  poor 
Janet:  nothing  could  exceed  her  care  of  and  tenderness  for 
the  unhappy  little  bride,  who  seemed  to  be  neither  wife  nor 

[209] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

widow.  It  was  at  times  such  as  this  that  Charlie's  mother 
showed  her  best — and  therefore  her  real — self. 

As  for  Janet,  she  was  well-nigh  broken-hearted.  Could 
anyone  imagine  a  more  tragic  ending  to  a  honeymoon  than 
this?  She  wandered  out  all  day  and  every  day  upon  the 
moor,  in  the  vain  hope  of  finding  her  lost  husband,  with 
Mrs.  Gaythorne  in  close  attendance,  that  good  woman 
knowing  neither  hunger  nor  fatigue  where  the  fulfilment  of 
what  she  considered  her  duty  was  concerned.  Like  many 
of  her  particular  school  of  thought — a  school  of  thought 
which  is  nowadays  well-nigh  obsolete — Mrs.  Gaythorne 
made  up  for  the  sternness  of  her  principles  by  the  wisdom 
and  tenderness  of  her  practices.  Her  written  epistle  might 
be  a  hard  saying:  but  as  a  living  epistle,  known  and  read  of 
all  men,  she  set  forth  in  unmistakable  terms  the  gospel  of 
love. 

One  evening  Captain  Gaythorne  came  into  the  inn-par- 
lour where  his  mother  happened  to  be  sitting  alone,  Janet 
having  retired  to  her  own  desolate  chamber  to  weep  and 
weep  undisturbed. 

"  It's  all  up,"  he  said,  hopelessly,  as  he  sank  into  a  chair: 
"  we  had  better  pack  up  and  go  home  to-morrow." 

"  Charles,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  poor  young  man's 
corpse  has  been  found  at  last?" 

Charlie  groaned :     "  Worse  than  that,  mother." 

"  There  is  nothing  worse  than  death,"  replied  Mrs.  Gay- 
thorne. "  I  mean,  of  course,  for  the  survivors,"  she  added, 
hastily. 

"Yes,  mother,  there  is:  disgrace  is  worse  than  death." 

Mrs.  Gaythorne  drew  herself  up.  "  Charles,  never  let 
me  hear  you  use  such  a  word  as  disgrace  in  connexion  with 
that  man  of  God,  Gabriel  Carr." 

[210] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  It  sticks  in  my  throat,  I  can  tell  you,  mother ;  but 
I'm  afraid  you'll  use  it  yourself  when  you  hear  what  I've 
heard." 

"And  what  is  that,  Charles?  Where  did  they  find  the 
corpse  of  that  excellent  young  man?  " 

"  They  haven't  found  it  at  all.  Don't  you  see,  mother, 
there's  no  corpse  in  the  question?  That's  the  whole  point 
of  the  thing." 

"  Charles,  explain  yourself." 

Captain  Gaythorne  endeavoured — as  he  had  always  en- 
deavoured from  his  youth  up — to  obey  his  mother,  but 
lucidity  of  expression  had  never  been  one  of  his  most  dis- 
tinguishing characteristics.  "  Well,  you  see,  the  police 
have  at  last  traced  Carr  to  Newton  Abbot." 

"  Newton  Abbot  ?  What  on  earth  did  he  want  at  New- 
ton Abbot — and  on  his  honeymoon,  too?" 

"  That's  just  the  whole  point." 

"  Then  I  don't  believe  he  ever  went  there.  Gabriel  was 
the  last  man  to  do  anything  foolish,  especially  in  a  thick 
fog — except  of  course  in  matters  of  ritual,  with  regard  to 
which  he  always  seemed  to  have  a  bee  in  his  bonnet,  to  say 
the  least  of  it.  But  he  was  not  a  fool  all  through :  and  it  is 
one  thing  to  have  early  services  and  flowers  upon  the  com- 
munion-table, and  quite  another  to  go  to  Newton  Abbot 
in  a  dense  fog  on  your  honeymoon  with  no  object." 

"  All  the  same,  he  went  there,  mother.  An  old  fossil 
of  a  farmer  has  turned  up  who  gave  him  a  lift  in  his  cart 
as  far  as  Newton  Abbot." 

Mrs.  Gaythorne  still  bristled  all  over  with  doubts.  "  And 
what  did  he  do  when  he  got  to  Newton  Abbot,  I  should 
like  to  know?  " 

"  He  went  straight  to  the  station,  and  off  to  London  by 

[211] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

the  next  train.  The  railway  fellows  can  tell  us  all  about 
that,  as  they  sold  him  his  ticket  and  saw  him  get  into  the 
train." 

"  I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  it.  It  is  a  faked-up  story, 
invented  to  injure  Gabriel  and  to  annoy  me." 

"  But,  mother,  you  must  believe  it.  A  countryman  drove 
a  parson  in  a  grey  Norfolk  suit,  and  exactly  answering  to 
the  description  of  Carr,  into  Newton  Abbot  on  the  morning 
after  the  fog." 

"  That  is  not  proof.  There  may  have  been  hundreds  of 
clergymen  in  grey  Norfolk  suits  wandering  upon  Dartmoor 
in  the  fog,  for  all  I  know.  Besides,  I  never  believe  the 
word  of  agricultural  labourers  without  some  proof." 

"  Well,  mother,  if  you  doubt  the  evidence  of  the  farmer 
and  the  railway  people  and  the  whole  of  Scotland  Yard  put 
together,  you  can't  doubt  the  evidence  of  your  own  senses. 
Look  here:  Carr  left  this  behind  in  the  cart  when  he  got 
out  at  Newton  Abbot."  And  Charlie  spread  out  before  his 
mother's  eyes  one  of  Gabriel's  pocket-handkerchiefs,  neatly 
and  clearly  marked  with  his  name  by  the  careful  and  effi- 
cient Janet. 

Then  at  last  Mrs.  Gaythorne  was  convinced.  For  some 
minutes  she  sat  quite  still,  great  tears  rolling  down  her 
weather-beaten  cheeks.  "  Oh !  Charles,  what  does  it  mean  ?  " 
she  said,  after  a  time:  "  What  does  it  mean?  "  And  it  was 
pitiful  to  hear  the  quiver  in  the  usually  steady  voice. 

"  I'm  afraid  it  means  that  Carr  has  behaved  like  a  black- 
guard, mother." 

"  But  he  was  such  a  good  man,"  Mrs.  Gaythorne  pleaded : 
"  such  a  sincere  and  God-fearing  man,  though  in  some  mat- 
ters so  misguided." 

"  I  know  that,  mother:  but  even  the  best  of  men  come  a 

[212] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

cropper  sometimes,  don't  you  know?  Look  at  King  David 
and  Lord  Nelson." 

"  Charles,  never  let  me  hear  you  couple  again  the  name 
of  the  Sweet  Singer  of  Israel  with  that  of  the  lover  of  Lady 
Hamilton." 

Charlie  was  contrite  at  once.  "  I  beg  your  pardon, 
mother:  I  didn't  mean  to  rough  you  up.  All  I  meant  was 
that  it's  sometimes  too  difficult  even  for  the  best  of  men  to 
keep  straight:  women  haven't  the  ghost  of  an  idea  how 
deuced  difficult  it  is!  " 

"  But  women  have  a  very  good  idea  indeed  of  how  dis- 
tressing it  is  when  they  do  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Gaythorne, 
with  some  truth. 

"  My  idea  is,"  said  Charlie,  who  had  inherited  a  goodly 
portion  of  his  mother's  sound  sense,  "  that  Carr  made  a 
mistake  in  marrying  a  quiet,  dowdy  girl  like  Janet  Field: 
she  wasn't  the  sort  to  hold  a  brilliant,  good-looking  fellow 
like  him,  don't  you  know?  Showy  men  want  showy  wives 
to  hold  them:  or  else  there's  soon  the  devil  to  pay." 

"  There  are  other  attractions  than  those  of  the  flesh, 
Charles.  I  was  never  a  particularly  handsome  woman,  but 
I  had  no  difficulty  in  holding  your  father.  He  always  did 
exactly  as  I  told  him  from  the  day  of  our  marriage  till  the 
hour  of  his  death." 

Charlie  fully  believed  this.  "  Of  course,  of  course, 
mother:  and  you  are  very  good-looking,  all  the  same.  But 
I  mean  I  never  much  believe  in  those  boy-and-girl  sort  of 
attachments.  You  see,  Janet  was  always  like  a  sister  to 
Carr,  and  she  had  no  more  influence  over  him  than  a  sister 
would  have.  A  man  wants  something  stronger  than  a  milk- 
and-water,  brother-and-sister  feeling  to  satisfy  him  in  mar- 
ried life.  Why,  it  even  says  in  the  Prayer-book  that  a  man 

[213] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

may  not  marry  his  sister  any  more  than  his  grandmother,  and 
that's  the  same  principle,  don't  you  know?" 

"  Charles,  I  admit  there  is  something  in  what  you  say. 
But  that  does  not  seem  to  me  to  excuse  a  man  from  running 
away  from  his  wife  on  his  honeymoon." 

"  Of  course  not :  but  in  a  way  it  explains  it.  I  believe 
that  poor  Carr  married  Janet  out  of  a  sense  of  duty  or 
honour,  or  something  of  that  kind,  because  she'd  been  in 
love  with  him  from  a  kid:  and  then  when  he'd  done  it  he 
found  it  was  more  than  he  could  stand:  so  he  just  cut  and 
run.  You  see,  clever  people  find  it  awfully  slow  to  be 
married  to  people  who  aren't  clever,"  Charlie  added,  rue- 
fully, remembering  how  obviously  he  himself  always  bored 
his  wife. 

"  We  must  keep  this  from  Janet  at  all  costs,"  said  Mrs. 
Gaythorne,  after  a  short  pause.  "  It  is  better  for  her  to 
think  her  husband  dead  than  false." 

"  We  can't  keep  it  from  her,  mother.  The  papers  to-mor- 
row will  be  full  of  it,  and  you  know  how  she  reads  every 
word." 

"  Then  we  cannot  keep  it  from  her,  Charles :  she  must 
know  the  worst.  And  perhaps  it  is  better  that  she  should. 
We  cannot  spare  people  more  than  God  intends  to  spare 
them,  and  it  is  no  use  our  trying  to  do  so:  and  surely  the 
Lord  knows  best." 


CHAPTER    XVI 

FORSAKEN 

ON  her  return  from  her  ill-starred  honeymoon,  Janet  insisted 
upon  taking  up  her  abode  at  Gaythorne  Rectory,  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  She  had  read  in  the  papers  the 
account  of  Gabriel's  departure  to  London  from  Newton 
Abbot,  and  had  been  wonderfully  comforted  by  this  proof 
that  her  husband  was  still  alive.  But  she  absolutely  refused 
to  believe  any  ill  of  him.  She  persisted  that  he  must  have  had 
some  good  reason  for  rushing  off  to  London  in  that  strange 
fashion,  or  else  he  would  never  have  done  so;  and  she  was 
convinced  that  before  long  he  would  return  to  Gaythorne 
and  take  up  his  duties  there,  with  a  full  and  satisfactory 
explanation  of  his  apparently  unjustifiable  conduct.  Her 
absolute  faith  in  him  remained  unshaken. 

But  this  attitude  of  mind  on  Janet's  part  made  things 
very  awkward  for  other  people.  The  parish  of  Gaythorne 
was  practically  without  a  rector:  and  as  Carr  had  not 
resigned  the  living,  and  there  was  no  proof  of  his  death,  but 
.  rather  the  contrary,  he  still  held  the  incumbency;  and 
therefore  a  new  rector  could  not  as  yet  be  instituted  in  his 
place.  So  it  was  arranged  between  the  Bishop  and  Mrs. 
Gaythorne,  who  were  great  friends,  that — for  the  present 
at  any  rate — Janet  and  her  mother-in-law  should  draw  the 
stipend  and  stay  on  at  the  rectory:  while  a  curate  should 


THE    SUBJECTION 

be  paid  by  Mrs.  Gaythorne  to  take  charge  of  the  parish, 
which  was  a  very  small  one,  and  to  do  duty  in  the  church. 

Weeks  rolled  on,  and  nothing  further  was  heard  of  the 
missing  Gabriel.  It  seemed  as  if  the  Devonshire  farmer 
had  indeed  seen  the  last  of  him;  and  as  if  when  he  left  the 
station  of  Newton  Abbot  he  had  disappeared  for  ever.  But 
his  wife's  faith  in  him  remained  untouched.  She  still  clung 
as  closely  as  ever  to  her  conviction  that  one  day  he  would 
come  back  and  explain  everything,  and  stand  justified  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world :  though  how  he  would  do  it  she  had  not 
the  ghost  of  an  idea. 

Mrs.  Gaythorne,  however,  had  her  own  explanation  of 
his  apparently  inexplicable  conduct.  She  was  bound  to 
arrive  at  a  conclusion  of  some  sort,  as  it  was  agony  to  her 
to  feel  that  there  was  anything  in  heaven  or  earth  undreamed 
of  in  her  own  peculiar  philosophy. 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind  what  has  become  of  Gabriel 
Carr,"  she  announced  one  morning  at  breakfast,  a  couple  of 
months  after  the  Rector's  disappearance.  Her  son  and 
daughter-in-law  were  sitting  with  her  at  the  table,  as  well 
as  Isabel  Seaton,  who  was  spending  a  few  days  at  Gaythorne 
Manor  while  Paul  delivered  a  course  of  political  speeches 
in  the  north  of  England.  Isabel  had  been  very  much 
attached  to  Gabriel  and  very  much  surprised  and  disturbed 
at  first  by  his  disappearance.  But  she  had  soon  got  over  it. 
It  is  astonishing  how  little  power  events  outside  the  circle 
of  her  own  household  and  family  have  in  destroying  the 
peace  of  the  happily-married  woman.  Things  which  would 
have  agonised  her  in  her  single  days  hardly  disturb  her  at  all. 
Mrs.  Paul  Seaton  had  much  in  common  with  the  old  woman 
who  said  that  "  as  long  as  her  husband's  dinner  didn't  dis- 
agree with  him,  she  didn't  mind  how  soon  there  was  a 

[216] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

European  war."  It  is  by  no  means  an  uncommon  type:  for 
matrimony,  when  reverently,  discreetly  and  advisedly  taken 
in  hand,  becomes  an  absorbing  profession. 

"  How  clever  of  you,  Mrs.  Gaythorne! "  exclaimed 
Isabel.  "  Do  let  us  hear  what  it  is." 

"  I  believe  that  Ritualism — and  nothing  else  but  Ritual- 
ism— is  responsible  for  all  the  trouble,"  replied  Mrs.  Gay- 
thorne, as  ever  true  to  her  colours. 

"  But  there  is  nothing  in  the  Ornaments'  Rubric  in 
favour  of  deserting  your  wife  on  her  honeymoon,"  argued 
the  irrepressible  Isabel. 

"But  there's  something  in  the  Bible  about  people  with 
wives  being  as  though  they  hadn't  any,"  hastily  added 
Charlie,  wishing  to  agree  with  his  mother  and  believing 
that  he  was  doing  so. 

But  Mrs.  Gaythorne  was  not  so  easily  agreed  with.  "  No, 
Charles:  I  think  you  have  misinterpreted  that  particular 
text:  but  you  shall  look  it  up  in  the  Commentary  as  soon 
as  you  have  finished  your  breakfast,  and  see  exactly  what  it 
means.  My  impression,  however,  is  that  it  was  not  intended 
to  inculcate  the  regular  practice  of  such  behaviour  as 
Gabriel's." 

Charlie  at  once  submitted.  He  felt  that,  with  the  best 
of  intentions,  he  had  somehow  made  a  mistake. 

Here  Fabia  broke  into  the  conversation :  "  He  who  weds 
and  runs  away,  May  live  to  wed  another  day, — and  another 
young  woman." 

Mrs.  Gaythorne  pursed  up  her  lips  in  stern  disapproval. 
"  No,  my  dear ;  Gabriel  Carr  was  never  one  of  that  sort. 
I  have  known  him  from  a  child,  and  his  mother  before  him, 
and  that  is  the  last  thing  that  either  of  them  would  ever 
think  of  doing." 

[217] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

"  Still  I  must  say  there  is  something  in  Fabia's  idea," 
said  Charlie.  He  was  always  ready,  whenever  it  was  possi- 
ble, to  show  up  his  wife  to  his  mother  in  a  favourable  light. 
This  was  one  of  the  poor  fellow's  many  conjugal  mistakes. 
There  is  nothing  that  a  wife  resents  more  than  being 
screened  by  her  husband  from  her  husband's  relations:  just 
as  there  is  nothing  that  makes  a  husband  more  indignant 
than  being  translated,  with  emendations  by  his  wife,  in 
order  to  earn  the  approval  of  his  wife's  people.  Yet  the 
intention  on  both  sides  arises  from  the  best  of  motives, 
although  it  generally  brings  about  the  very  result  that  it 
was  originated  to  avoid.  Unsanctified  human  nature  cannot 
endure  to  be  revised  and  Bowdlerised  for  the  benefit  of  its 
in-laws. 

"  We  don't  want  to  hear  what  you  say ;  we  want  to 
hear  what  Mrs.  Gaythorne  thinks,"  was  Fabia's  unwifely 
retort. 

Poor  Charlie  again  subsided. 

"  What  is  your  idea  about  Gabriel  Carr,  Mrs.  Gay- 
thorne ?  "  Fabia  continued. 

"  It  is  not  an  idea,  Fabia ;  it  is  a  conviction.  It  has  been 
borne  in  upon  me  that  Gabriel  had  so  saturated  his  mind 
with  Popish  notions  about  monks  and  nuns  and  celibates 
and  all  sorts  of  profane  nonsense  of  that  kind,  that  they 
turned  his  brain — never  very  strong  at  the  best  of  times,  or 
else  he  would  not  have  gone  in  for  the  mummeries  he  did. 
By  the  way,  what  do  they  call  a  nunnery  for  monks?  "  Mrs. 
Gaythorne  always  shammed  ignorance  upon  subjects  such 
as  this,  in  the  same  way  as  His  Majesty's  Judges  frequently 
feign  an  ignorance,  to  which  they  really  have  no  claim,  with 
regard  to  matters  unconnected  with  their  high  profession. 
Just  as  a  judge  would  feel  it  incumbent  upon  him  in  his 

[218] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

official  capacity  to  assume  innocence  regarding  race-meetings 
and  the  like,  so  Mrs.  Gaythorne  felt  it  incumbent  upon  her 
high  calling  as  a  militant  Protestant  to  know  nothing  what- 
soever about  the  ceremonies  and  institutions  sanctioned  by 
Catholicism  in  any  form. 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  a  monastery?"  replied  Fabia. 

"  Monastery,  indeed !  I  should  rather  call  it  a  monkey- 
house,"  retorted  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  with  grim  humour. 
"  Well,  I  am  convinced  that  Gabriel  was  suddenly  seized 
with  a  ridiculous  and  papistical  notion  that  all  clergymen 
ought  to  be  bachelors :  and  so  he  fled  away  from  Janet  into  a 
monastery.  What  are  those  horrible  places  called  where 
no  women  are  admitted  and  nobody  is  allowed  to  speak, 
Fabia?" 

"  Trappist  monasteries,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  name,  and  a  very  suitable  name,  too,  for 
they  are  indeed  traps  set  by  the  devil  to  catch  the  souls  of 
men !  Not  long  ago  I  read  a  novel  about  a  man  who,  after 
he  was  married,  remembered  that  he  was  a  Trappist  monk; 
so  he  at  once  gave  up  being  married  and  returned  to  his 
monastery.  I  thought  it  a  most  improper  proceeding  on  his 
part :  but  I  feel  convinced  in  my  own  mind  that  poor  Gabriel 
has  gone  and  done  likewise." 

"  But  Carr  wasn't  a  Trappist  before  his  marriage,"  ob- 
jected Captain  Gaythorne. 

His  mother  shook  her  head  ominously.  "  You  never  can 
tell  what  those  high-church  parsons  may  be  in  disguise.  I 
dare  say  he  was  a  Trappist  and  a  Jesuit  as  well,  if  we  only 
knew.  Lots  of  them  are,  and  believe  that  they  are  thereby 
doing  God  service." 

"But  Carr  would  never  have  justified  a  married  man 
going  into  a  monastery  unless  there'd  have  been  some  rat- 

[219] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

tling  good  reason  for  it,"  persisted  Charlie:  "you  can  bet 
j'our  boots  upon  that." 

"  Anybody  who  will  justify  a  man,  under  any  circum- 
stances, in  hiding  himself  in  one  of  those  dreadful,  horrible 
nunneries,  will  justify  anything,"  replied  Mrs.  Gaythorne, 
unwittingly  speaking  the  truth,  as  a  man  in  a  nunnery  would 
indeed  be  as  dreadful  a  thing  as  a  lion  among  ladies.  "  And, 
Charles,  never  again  let  me  hear  you  use  such  an  objection- 
able word  as  '  bet,'  for  betting  is  one  of  the  things  that  I 
have  never  allowed  either  you  or  your  father  to  indulge  in, 
and  never  shall." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  that  Gabriel  has 
followed  Hamlet's  advice  and  got  him  to  a  nunnery,"  said 
Isabel;  "but  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  she  were  correct 
in  the  spirit  if  not  in  the  letter;  and  that  some  impractical 
and  quixotic  notion  were  accountable  for  his  disappearance. 
I  feel  certain  that  he  thought  he  was  doing  right,  or  he 
wouldn't  have  done  it." 

Charlie  looked  doubtful.  "  It's  all  very  well  to  be  roman- 
tic and  quixotic,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing:  but  deserting 
your  wife  on  your  honeymoon  is  rather  a  large  order." 

"  I  agree  with  Charlie's  notion,"  said  Fabia;  "  that  Janet 
bored  him  so  intensely  that  he  literally  could  not  stand 
another  day  of  her." 

Charlie  beamed  with  pleasure  at  the  great  compliment 
Fabia  paid  him  in  endorsing  his  opinion  on  any  matter. 
"  He  is  a  clever  sort  of  chap,  and  he  wanted  a  clever  sort  of 
wife  to  keep  him  company,  don't  you  know?" 

"  I  daresay  Mrs.  Gabriel  Carr  isn't  a  dazzling  genius," 
remarked  Isabel,  "  but  I  shouldn't  have  called  her  by  any 
means  a  fool.  She  seemed  to  me  the  pleasant,  easy-going 
sort  of  girl  that  one  asks  in  at  the  last  moment  to  make  the 

[  220  ] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

fourteenth  at  table,  and  things  of  that  kind.  I  saw  her 
once  or  twice  before  her  marriage,  and  that  is  how  she 
struck  me:  not  too  clever  to  get  married,  and  yet  too  stupid 
to  remain  single — the  sort  of  woman  that  makes  a  man 
really  happy."  Isabel  was  always  ready,  and  more  than 
ready,  to  do  justice  to  another  woman. 

"  But  she's  so  short."  Captain  Gaythorne,  like  Lord 
Byron,  hated  a  dumpy  woman. 

"  Still  he  knew  that  when  he  proposed  to  her,"  retorted 
Mrs.  Seaton.  "  It  is  absurd  to  marry  a  woman  of  five  foot 
three,  and  then  to  run  away  because  she  doesn't  grow  to 
five  foot  six  before  the  end  of  the  honeymoon!  If  you 
want  '  outside  ladies'  size '  you  must  order  it  in  the  first 
instance." 

"  I  did,"  replied  Charlie,  looking  at  his  tall  wife  with 
adoration  in  his  honest  eyes. 

"  We  are  all  as  God  made  us,"  said  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  her 
voice  heavy  with  reproof. 

"  But  you  can't  deny  that  you  are  glad  that  there  was  no 
skimping  in  your  case,  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  and  that  you  were 
cut  out  a  good  five- foot-seven,  with  ample  material  for 
bodice." 

"  Isabella  Carnaby,  do  not  be  flippant."  It  was  a  habit 
of  Mrs.  Gaythorne's  frequently  to  address  married  ladies 
by  their  maiden  names.  It  was  also  her  habit  never  to  use 
a  diminutive:  diminutives  being  among  the  numerous  things 
of  which  she  disapproved. 

"  I'll  try  not :  but  it  is  difficult  to  change  the  habits  of  a 
lifetime  at  my  age,"  replied  Mrs.  Seaton,  meekly. 

"  Nevertheless,"  added  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  who  was  noth- 
ing if  not  accurate,  "  I  confess  that  it  is  a  cause  of  thankful- 
ness on  my  part  that  it  was  ordained  by  Providence  that  I 

[221  ] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

should  not  be  a  small  or  insignificant  person.  Presence  is  a 
thing  which  I  have  always  considered  most  important,  my 
dear  Isabella."  Isabella  was  not  Isabel's  name:  but  Mrs. 
Gaythorne  thought  it  ought  to  have  been,  and  so  invariably 
addressed  her  by  it.  She  regarded  the  name  Isabel  in  the 
light  of  a  diminutive,  and  disapproved  of  it  accordingly. 

"  It's  always  a  mistake  for  a  fellow  to  marry  a  dowdy 
little  woman,"  said  Charles,  sententiously :  "frumps  have 
no  staying  power." 

"  And  it  is  an  equally  grave  mistake  for  a  girl  to  marry 
a  fool,"  replied  Fabia. 

Charlie  winced,  but  Isabel  came  to  his  rescue.  "  Lots 
have  to,  or  they'd  never  get  married  at  all.  Nobody  but  a 
fool  would  propose  to  them." 

Thus  Gabriel  Carr's  friends  discussed  his  mysterious  dis- 
appearance, and  none  of  them  could  come  to  any  satisfactory 
conclusion,  since  none  of  them  knew  of  the  tragedy  which 
had  occurred  upon  Dartmoor  on  the  night  of  the  fog.  That 
was  known  to  only  two  living  people:  and  of  these  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation  forbade  the  one  to  tell,  and 
nobody  would  accept  the  testimony  of  the  other.  So  the 
secret  was  in  safe  keeping. 

Janet  was  very  brave,  but  her  sorrow  told  upon  her:  her 
face  grew  older  and  her  figure  less  plump,  and  the  merry 
look  died  out  of  her  hazel  eyes.  But  she  carried  a  bold 
front  before  the  world,  and  she  abundantly  fulfilled  her 
duty  to  her  husband's  parish.  She  was  an  ideal  wife  for  any 
clergyman ;  and  even  the  overwhelming  blow  which  had 
well-nigh  crushed  her  in  no  wise  interfered  with  her  ade- 
quacy in  adorning  the  lot  to  which  she  had  been  called.  The 
parish  of  Gaythorne  was  but  a  small  parish,  it  is  true;  but 
it  was  better  looked  after  than  any  other  parish  in  the 

[  222  ] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

county,  every  cottage  being  constantly  visited  and  every 
sick  person  carefully  ministered  to  by  Janet  herself.  Thus 
her  desolate  days  were  filled  with  deeds  of  charity  and  acts 
of  mercy,  and  so  were  kept  from  being  quite  as  desolate  as 
they  would  otherwise  have  been:  for  work — and  especially 
work  for  others — is  the  best  panacea  for  the  pain  of  the 
human  heart. 

Another  source  of  comfort  to  Janet  was  the  possession  of 
a  gift  which  is  usually  reserved  for  the  stronger  sex,  and  is 
rarely  bestowed  upon  wromen,  namely,  the  gift  of  not  seeing 
anything  that  she  did  not  wish  to  see.  Women  as  a  rule 
are  too  keen-sighted  and  too  quick  in  their  perceptions  to  be 
able  to  close  their  eyes  at  will,  for  a  stone  wall  is  generally 
to  them  as  plate-glass:  but  men — happy  creatures! — have  a 
marvellous  power  of  not  seeing  the  unpleasant  truth  at  all, 
unless  they  desire  to  do  so.  Even  though  you  may  illuminate 
it  with  Chinese  lanterns  and  dangle  it  under  their  very 
noses,  they  will  remain  as  blind  as  if  it  were  an  undiscovered 
planet.  They  do  not  choose  to  see  it:  therefore  for  them  it 
does  not  exist.  Most  men  are  mute  inglorious  Nelsons, 
putting  the  telescope  to  their  blind  eyes  when  they  think 
the  signals  will  be  against  their  wishes.  It  is  a  most  com- 
fortable and  convenient  custom,  and  shows  the  superior 
wisdom  of  the  sex  which  is  proficient  in  it.  Janet  Carr, 
however,  had  less  subtlety  than  the  majority  of  women  and 
less  quickness  of  perception:  as  a  matter  of  fact  she  was 
almost  as  easily  deceived  (when  she  wished  to  be)  as  a 
man.  She  had  none  of  that  marvellous  power  of  intuition 
\vhich  distinguishes  some — and  not  always  the  cleverest — 
women:  and  she  had  intensely  strong  and  deeply-rooted 
prejudices — things  which  are  always  useful  as  blinkers. 
Therefore  the  stream  of  gossip  about  Gabriel  flowed  by  her 

[223  ] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

unheeded:  she  was  as  little  affected  by  it  as  a  man  would 
have  been. 

But  Janet's  chief  stronghold  lay  in  the  fact  that  she  never 
for  a  moment  doubted  her  husband,  or  questioned  the  purity 
of  his  motives  and  the  soundness  of  his  wisdom  in  leaving 
her.  What  wise  reason  had  prompted  his  apparently  unac- 
countable action  she  of  course  could  not  tell:  but  that  there 
was  a  reason — and  an  all-sufficient  one — she  had  not  the 
faintest  shadow  of  a  doubt.  Thus  she  not  only  fulfilled  her 
duty  to  her  husband's  parish,  but  she  also  fulfilled  her  duty 
to  her  husband,  the  parish-priest.  She  regarded  the  husband 
as  the  head  of  the  wife;  and  therefore  held  that  it  was  not 
in  the  wife's  province  to  criticise  his  actions  nor  to  question 
his  motives.  She  was  accountable  to  him ;  but  he  was  not 
accountable  to  her.  It  was  a  counsel  of  perfection,  perhaps : 
but  perfection  does  not  spell  impossibility:  otherwise  "Be 
ye  perfect  "  would  never  have  been  a  command  issued  to  the 
sons  of  men.  Janet  Carr  implicitly  obeyed  the  apostolic 
injunction,  that  wives  must  be  in  subjection  to  their  own 
husbands:  she  had  no  new-fangled,  modern  notions  as  to 
the  equality  of  the  sexes  and  the  independence  of  the  wife. 
She  was  content  to  accept  the  holy  estate  of  matrimony  as 
what  God  and  Church  ordained  it  to  be:  and  she  did  not 
trouble  her  mind  with  problems  as  to  the  permanence  of 
home  life  or  the  sanctity  of  marriage.  To  her,  marriage 
was  a  sacrament,  and  was  therefore  not  open  to  observation : 
and  she  held  as  most  unseemly  the  modern  habit  of  setting 
aside,  by  means  of  problem-novels  and  scientific  treatises  and 
open  discussion  in  the  daily  papers,  the  very  oracles  of  God. 
She  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  wondering  whether  the 
grass  were  red  or  the  sky  green,  as  of  wondering  whether  the 
bond  of  holy  wedlock  were  dissoluble. 

[224] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

She  believed  in  her  husband's  integrity  with  all  her  heart: 
believed  that  what  he  had  done  had  been  done  with  the  best 
of  motives  and  would  end  in  the  most  satisfactory  of  results. 
But  if  she  had  not  believed  this,  it  would  have  made  no 
difference  at  all  in  her  attitude  towards  him.  If  she  could 
have  been  convinced  that  he  had  purposely  forsaken  her  and 
had  been  wholly  unfaithful,  she  \vould  not  have  regarded 
herself  as  one  whit  the  less  his  wife,  or  considered  her  duty 
to  him  as  in  any  way  cancelled. 

Such  was  the  simple  faith  of  Janet  Carr:  an  out-worn 
creed,  according  to  modern  notions,  and  one  which  con- 
tained in  its  vocabulary  no  such  words  as  "  incompatibility 
of  temper,"  "  temperamental  differences,"  and  the  like.  But 
it  satisfied  her,  and  was  founded  upon  the  truth,  according 
to  her  judgment:  and  I  think  also  that  she,  like  S.  Paul, 
had  the  Spirit  of  God. 


[225  ] 


CHAPTER    XVII 

THE     BEGINNING     OF     TROUBLE 

As  TIME  went  on,  the  relations  between  Captain  Gaythorne 
and  his  beautiful  wife  grew  more  and  more  strained :  her 
contempt  for  him  was  more  openly  showed,  and  his  unhap- 
piness  at  her  indifference  more  fully  displayed,  every  day 
they  spent  together.  Of  course  no  wife  is  justified  in  behav- 
ing to  her  husband  as  Fabia  was  behaving  then:  but  still  it 
cannot  be  denied  that  poor  Charlie  managed  her  very  badly. 
Fabia  was  the  type  of  woman  who  wanted  to  find  her  mas- 
ter: and  Charlie  persisted  in  fawning  at  her  feet,  as  if  he 
were  her  slave  or  her  spaniel.  And  yet  he  was  a  manly 
enough  man  where  his  own  sex  was  concerned :  his  men  had 
always  obeyed  him  and  his  fellow-officers  respected  him  from 
the  time  that  he  first  entered  the  service.  But  as  a  boy  he 
had  been  trained  to  be  afraid  of  his  mother,  and  conse- 
quently as  a  man  he  was  afraid  of  his  wife.  He  would  do 
anything  compatible  with  reason  and  honour  to  avoid  the 
storms  of  feminine  temper;  and  yet — or,  perhaps,  therefore 
— the  lightnings  of  female  wrath  were  forever  hurtling 
round  his  devoted  head.  It  never  answers  to  kow-tow  to  a 
subject  race:  it  always  renders  that  race  exacting  and  over- 
bearing. It  is  Man's  place  to  rule:  and  the  minute  that  he 
lays  down  his  sceptre,  Woman  snatches  it  up  and  hits  him 
over  the  head  with  it — as  he  richly  deserves.  Women 

[226] 


THE    SUBJECTION   OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

invariably  bully  the  men  who  are  afraid  of  them,  be  they 
husbands  or  brothers  or  sons:  and  the  more  a  man  cringes 
before  them,  the  less  consideration  they  show  him.  The 
true  man  will  always  regard  his  wife  as  a  queen,  and  treat 
her  with  all  homage  and  reverence  as  such ;  but  he  will  know 
in  his  heart  that  she  is  really  only  a  queen-consort,  though 
on  that  score  entitled  to  all  the  more  chivalry  and  consider- 
ation. In  the  smaller  things  of  life  he  will  render  to  her 
every  courtesy — it  will  be  his  to  fetch  and  carry,  hers  to 
order  and  command.  Because  he  rules  in  the  greater  things, 
he  will  always  submit  to  her  wishes  in  the  lesser:  because 
the  crown  is  really  his,  he  will  always  allow  her  the  full 
prerogative  of  the  coronet.  The  man  who  domineers  over 
his  wife  in  trifles  is  as  unworthy  of  his  kingship  as  is  the 
man  who  trembles  before  her  with  regard  to  the  weightier 
matters  of  the  law:  for  the  very  fact  that  he  is  by  right  her 
lord  and  master  should  make  him  all  the  more  eager  never 
publicly  to  display  himself  as  such,  or  to  lower  his  royal 
dignity  by  dragging  it  in  the  dust  of  petty  domestic  affairs. 
A  crown  is  not  the  fitting  headgear  for  the  daily  walk 
abroad  or  the  peaceful  evening  at  home:  a  sceptre  is  not  the 
suitable  implement  for  the  stirring  of  tea-cups  or  the  making 
of  puddings. 

There  is  nothing  which  so  cheapens  and  vulgarises  an 
article  as  over-advertisement:  there  are  some  things  so  deli- 
cately made  that  to  talk  about  them  destroys  them.  There 
is  truth  as  well  as  beauty  in  the  legend  of  the  bride  who 
lost  her  fairy-lover  as  soon  as  she  asked  him  his  name:  as 
he  told  it  to  her  he  vanished.  The  man  who  tells  us  that 
he  is  great,  thereby  proves  his  own  littleness:  the  woman 
who  announces  that  she  is  a  lady,  thereby  forfeits  her  right 
to  the  title.  Have  we  not  all  in  our  time  come  across  some 
[227  ] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

of  these  members  of  the  great  army  of  snobs  who  show  their 
lack  of  social  position  by  their  constant  insistence  on  the 
same:  and  who  preve  the  ordinary  and  commonplace  tint 
of  their  blood  by  their  incessant  testimony  as  to  its  azure 
hue?  In  the  same  way  the  man  who  tyrannises  over  his 
wife  in  trifles  and  is  always  eager  to  prove  himself  the  mas- 
ter of  the  house,  shows  that  in  reality  he  is  nothing  but  a 
pretender,  and  is  no  ruler  by  divine  right.  For  such 
divinity  doth  hedge  a  king,  who  is  in  any  sense  a  real  king, 
that  he  cannot  stoop  to  haggle  and  squabble  and  nag.  His 
patent  of  royalty  is  too  obvious  to  need  any  announcement: 
his  rank  too  inherent  to  require  any  herald  to  proclaim  his 
style.  And  this  rule  obtains  in  every  other  department  of 
life.  Good  wine  of  any  kind  needs  no  bush.  The  really 
well-bred  person  does  not  boast  of  his  good  breeding:  the 
really  beautiful  woman  does  not  trouble  to  explain  her 
charms.  The  moment  that  a  thing  requires  bolstering  up 
by  advertisement  and  explanation,  that  thing  begins  to  be  a 
sham  and  a  humbug,  and  had  better  be  thrown  overboard 
altogether:  for  in  its  very  nature  it  is  doomed  to  perish. 

It  was  a  great  pity,  for  her  sake  as  well  as  his  own,  that 
Captain  Gaythorne  did  not  better  understand  how  to  man- 
age his  young  wife:  for  her  present  attitude  towards  her 
husband  was  the  worst  thing  possible  for  a  woman  of 
Fabia's  temperament.  She  was  bound  sooner  or  later  to 
get  into  mischief  of  some  sort  or  another:  since  matrimony, 
if  not  an  absorbing  profession,  is  a  very  unsatisfactory  pas- 
time. Fabia  was  a  woman  who  needed  occupation  and 
interest  in  her  life;  and  if  she  could  not  get  'them  from  one 
source  she  would  get  them  from  another.  After  Gabriel 
so  signally  failed  her  all  along  the  line,  she  fell  back  upon 
her  old  friend,  Ram  Chandar  Mukharji.  And  Ram  Chan- 

[228] 


OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

dar  was  a  clever  man,  who  knew  how  to  make  the  most  of 
his  opportunities.  He  answered  her  letters  in  full,  giving 
her  in  unstinted  measure  all  the  intellectual  stimulus  and 
sympathy  in  which  her  husband  wras  so  conspicuously  lack- 
ing: and  he  scrupulously  refrained  from  writing  a  word 
which  could  by  the  freest  translation  be  construed  into  any- 
thing approaching  love-making.  He  kipew  that  Fabia  was 
as  yet  unprepared  for  the  actual  existence  of  a  lover, 
although  she  was  quite  ready  to  amuse  herself  with  the 
shadow  and  spirit  of  the  thing:  and  he  also  knew  that  when 
once  a  married  woman  begins  thus  to  amuse  herself,  the 
appearance  upon  the  scene  of  the  actual  lover  is  but  a 
matter  of  time.  Some  Commandments  are  broken  suddenly 
or  not  at  all:  but  others  demand  a  more  gradual  process  of 
disintegration,  lest  the  breaker  should  be  so  shocked  at  the 
idea  of  the  catastrophe  that  the  Commandment  would  never 
get  broken  at  all.  Whatever  defects  the  devil  may  have 
otherwise,  he  always  shows  himself  an  adept  in  his  own 
particular  line  of  business,  and  he  is  unrivalled  in  his  powers 
of  manipulating  that  effective  instrument  known  as  the 
thin  edge  of  the  wedge. 

It  unfortunately  happened  that  Fabia  was  left  very  much 
to  herself  and  her  husband  just  then.  Christmas  was  over, 
and  Mrs.  Gaythorne  was  plunged  in  a  vortex  of  godly  dis- 
sipation and  holy  mirth;  and  was  submerged  in  a  whirlpool 
of  public  meetings,  which  would  gain  in  force  and  number 
all  through  the  spring,  until  they  reached  their  very  mael- 
strom at  Exeter  Hall  in  May.  Therefore  she  spent  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  her  time  in  London ;  and  when  at  home 
was  far  too  much  occupied  by  the  stress  of  rampant  philan- 
thropy to  have  any  leisure  or  attention  to  bestow  upon  her 
son's  conjugal  difficulties. 

[229] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

Isabel  Seaton,  however,  saw  pretty  clearly  how  things 
were  going;  but  she  was  one  of  the  rare  women  who  have 
mastered  the  fine  art  of  minding  their  own  business;  and, 
having  possessed  herself  of  so  valuable  and  uncommon  an 
accomplishment,  she  was  naturally  prone  to  practise  the 
same.  Nine  times  out  of  ten — nay,  rather  ninety-nine  times 
out  of  a  hundred — harm  instead  of  good  is  wrought  by  the 
intermeddling  of  well-intentioned  persons  in  affairs  not  their 
own.  Probably  far  less  evil  is  brought  about  in  the  world 
by  really  bad  and  unprincipled  people  than  by  conscientious 
and  well-meaning  ones  who  interfere  with  matters  that  do 
not  concern  them.  And  women,  far  more  than  men,  are 
offenders  in  this  respect.  When  a  really  good  woman  is 
seized  with  a  strong  outpouring  of  the  missionary  spirit,  the 
amount  of  mischief  that  she  will  effect  in  a  short  time  is  al- 
most incredible.  She  will  come  between  sister  and  brother, 
parent  and  child,  husband  and  wife;  she  will  estrange 
devoted  lovers,  and  separate  very  friends:  and  all  the  time 
she  will  purr  contentedly  to  herself  with  satisfaction  over 
her  successful  efforts,  and  will  thank  God  on  her  knees 
every  night  for  what  she  will  euphoniously  term  "  oppor- 
tunities of  usefulness."  She  will  never  have  the  ghost  of 
an  idea  that  she  is  one  of  Satan's  most  approved  emissaries 
for  introducing  discord  and  stirring  up  strife.  Let  the 
first  of  us  who  has  never  suffered  from  the  well-meant 
interference  of  a  conscientious  woman  say  a  word  in  her 
defence !  I  trow  her  advocates  will  be  few  and  far  between. 

Therefore  it  was  to  be  counted  to  Isabel  for  righteousness 
that  she  never  attempted  to  set  matters  straight  between 
Charlie  and  Fabia.  She  was  a  married  woman  herself,  so 
she  knew  the  danger  of  meddling  between  husband  and 
wife.  She  was  perhaps  overbold  as  a  matchmaker;  but  she 

[230] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

shrank  from  the  awful  responsibility  of  putting  asunder — 
by  word  or  hint  or  innuendo — those  whom  God  had  joined 
together.  A  single  woman  would  doubtless  have  rushed  in 
where  Mrs.  Paul  Seaton  feared  to  tread.  But  she  had 
learnt  wisdom  in  the  only  school  where  it  is  properly  taught 
— the  school  of  experience:  so  she  held  her  peace. 

There  is  a  delightful  story  told  (and  a  true  one,  too)  of 
a  lady  with  a  very  naughty  little  boy,  who  consulted  a 
friend — one  with  seven  children  of  her  own — as  to  how  she 
was  to  train  this  rebellious  olive-branch.  "  I'll  tell  you 
what  to  do,"  replied  the  mother  of  seven ;  "  go  straight  to 
the  first  old  maid  you  meet;  she  will  teach  you  exactly  how 
to  deal  successfully  with  the  matter.  But  it's  no  good 
coming  to  me,  because  I  know  no  more  about  it  than 
you  do." 

Now,  childless  women  are  not  more  omniscient  in  the 
training  of  the  young  than  are  old  maids  in  the  management 
of  husbands.  And  by  the  term  "  old  maids  "  I  mean  the 
regular  "  old  maid  " — not  the  broad-minded,  large-hearted 
spinster  whose  singleness  is  her  own  fault  and  every 
man's  misfortune;  but  the  petty,  provincial,  narrow-minded 
woman,  sneering  at  her  more  fortunate  sister  and  poking 
her  crooked  fingers  into  everybody's  pies,  who  would  be  just 
as  much  an  old  maid  had  she  been  married  and  had  a  large 
family — who  would  in  truth  have  been  just  as  much  an  old 
maid  had  she  been  a  man.  In  fact,  many  old  maids  have 
been  men,  and  it  has  not  made  them  any  the  less  oldmaidish : 
indeed  rather  more  so.  And  it  is  this  typical,  old-maid 
nature  which  is  generally  most  strongly  imbued  with  the 
missionary  spirit. 

Perhaps  there  is  no  type  of  woman  more  utterly  fascinat- 
ing and  delightful  than  the  really  charming  single  woman 

[231  ] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

— the  woman  who  retains  the  fascination  and  freshness  of 
girlhood  after  she  has  attained  to  the  culture  and  wisdom 
of  maturer  life.  The  dew  of  the  morning  is  still  in  her 
eyes,  even  though  she  has  watched  the  lengthening  of  the 
shadows:  the  scent  of  the  spring  is  still  in  her  hair,  even 
though  it  be  crowned  with  the  garlands  of  autumn.  She 
has  never  been  awakened,  by  the  cares  and  realities  of  mar- 
riage, from  the  dreams  of  her  girlhood:  her  place  is  in  the 
glades  of  the  forest  rather  than  in  the  market-place — in  the 
garden  of  spices  rather  than  in  the  store-closet.  Conse- 
quently she  has  more  sympathy  with  and  understanding  of 
the  young  than  has  the  busy  matron:  for  she  still  stands 
upon  the  mountain-top,  and  sees  the  promised  land  through 
the  magic  haze  of  distance,  as  the  young  are  standing  and 
seeing!  This  type  of  woman  will  never  be  obsessed  by  the 
missionary  spirit:  for  she  will  be  too  shy  to  rebuke,  too 
sensitive  to  interfere.  She  will  do  good  and  not  evil  all 
the  days  of  her  life,  by  the  tenderness  of  her  heart  and  by 
the  purity  of  her  soul:  and  the  children  of  countless  of  her 
contemporaries  will  rise  up  and  called  her  blessed.  Because 
she  does  not  belong  exclusively  to  one  man,  she  will  have 
leisure  to  sympathise  with  many:  because  no  child  calls  her 
mother,  she  will  have  a  wealth  of  universal  mother-love  to 
lavish  upon  all. 

But  unfortunately  the  interfering  style  of  old  maid  is  by 
far  the  more  common  species:  and  Isabel  Seaton  had  known 
so  much  harm  done  in  this  fashion  by  persons  not  really 
evil-minded,  that  she  herself  was  perhaps  inclined  to  err 
upon  the  other  side  and  to  keep  silence  even  from  good 
words,  when  such  words  would  have  been  helpful  and 
salutary.  There  is  a  distinct  difference  between  unjustifia- 
ble interference  and  the  necessary  word  of  warning:  but  it 

[232] 


OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

requires  a  very  astute  mathematician  to  know  exactly  where 
to  draw  the  line  between  the  two!  Anyhow  it  came  about 
that  Isabel  Seaton  refrained  from  saying  a  word  to  Charlie 
as  to  the  danger  of  his  wife's  obvious  indifference  to  him, 
and  of  her  determination — if  he  failed  to  afford  her  suffi- 
cient amusement — to  seek  the  same  elsewhere:  and  she 
likewise  refrained  for  the  present  from  saying  anything  to 
Fabia  upon  the  subject  either,  as  she  did  not  wish  to  be 
the  confidante  of  Mrs.  Charles  Gaythorne's  feelings  towards 
her  husband. 

Isabel  was  a  woman  of  the  world;  and  she  knew  that 
there  are  no  people  so  much  disliked  as  the  people  who  are 
made — even  though  it  be  against  their  own  wishes — the 
recipients  of  confidences  to  which  they  are  not  entitled.  We 
hate  forever  afterwards  the  persons  to  whom,  according  to 
common  parlance,  we  have  "given  ourselves  away";  even 
though  the  libation  may  have  been  purely  voluntary  at  the 
time,  and  quite  undesired  upon  their  part.  Therefore  wise 
men — and  women — do  not  receive  confidence  the  giving  of 
which  they  know  will  afterwards  be  regretted  by  the  donors. 

Of  course  Isabel  might  have  spoken  to  Charlie's  mother 
upon  the  subject:  but  she  shrank  from  doing  this:  partly 
because  such  a  course  savoured  of  the  most  unjustifiable  kind 
of  interference;  and  partly  because  she  loved  popularity, 
and  there  is  nothing  that  renders  anyone  so  unpopular  as 
the  imparting  of  disagreeable  information. 

The  Lady  Constance  hit  upon  a  great  truth  when  she 
exclaimed  to  the  bearer  of  evil  tidings — "  This  news  hath 
made  thee  a  most  ugly  man !  "  Hideous  indeed  in  the  eyes 
of  us  all  are  the  faces  of  those  who  come  to  us  a^  prophets 
of  evil:  and  likewise  lovely  are  the  messengers  who  bring 
us  the  gospel  of  peace !  Yet  there  are  men  and  women  who 

[  233  ] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

wish  to  be  attractive  and  desire  to  gain  the  affection  of  their 
fellow-men,  who  nevertheless  do  not  hesitate — indeed  rather 
hasten — to  carry  the  ill  news  and  the  evil  report  to  those 
whose  good  opinions  they  most  covet :  every  word  they  utter 
is  either  a  reflection  or  a  complaint:  every  criticism  they 
make  is  an  unfavourable  one.  It  never  occurs  to  them  that 
the  ugliness  of  the  message  which  they  bear  is  reflected  in 
their  own  countenances:  otherwise  they  would  surely  hold 
their  peace. 

So  Charles  and  Fabia  drifted  further  and  further  apart: 
and  Fabia  clung  more  and  more  to  the  support  and  sympathy 
of  Ram  Chandar  Mukharji. 

"  This  new  agent  that  I've  got  is  a  fool — an  utter  fool!  " 
exclaimed  Charlie,  as  his  wife  and  he  were  sitting  at 
luncheon  one  day,  Mrs.  Gaythorne  being  busily  engaged  in 
London  in  carrying  on  bloodless  revolutions  for  the  benefit 
of  the  whole  human  race. 

"Then  why  did  you  engage  him?  I  thought  an  agent's 
duty  was  to  supply  the  deficiencies  of  his  employer — not  to 
emulate  them." 

"  Of  course,  darling,  I  didn't  know  he  was  a  fool  when 
I  engaged  him:  otherwise  I  should  have  been  a  fool  myself 
for  doing  so." 

"  Precisely :  still  you  might  have  done  it  nevertheless.  I 
have  known  you  and  wisdom  part  company  before  now." 

"  I  often  wonder  what  fools  were  made  for,"  the  irate 
squire  grumbled  on. 

"  So  do  I :  but  I  should  have  imagined  that  you  would 
have  found  that  out  before  now." 

Charlie  was  hurt,  but  he  tried  not  to  show  it;  and  Fabia 
despised  him  all  the  more  for  being  so  thick-skinned,  so 
she  imagined,  as  not  to  feel  the  cut  of  her  lash.  In  the 

[234] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

interests  of  peace  he  changed  the  subject:  another  mistake 
on  his  part,  as  then  Fabia  despised  him  for  being  frightened 
and  running  away.  "  I  wonder  if  poor  old  Carr  will  ever 
turn  up  again,"  he  said. 

"A  good  many  people  are  wondering  that:  you  are  not 
by  any  means  solitary  in  your  speculations." 

"  It  is  desperately  rough  on  Janet !  She  looks  wretchedly 
ill,  poor  little  thing!  " 

"  You  would  hardly  expect  her  to  laugh  and  grow  fat 
on  such  a  catastrophe,  would  you?" 

It  was  certainly  up-hill  work  talking  to  Fabia,  but 
Charlie  bravely  went  on  his  patient,  dogged  way,  trying  his 
hardest  to  make  himself  pleasant,  which  was  the  very  last 
thing  he  should  have  endeavoured  to  do.  "  Of  course  not, 
old  girl:  by  Jove,  no!  I  should  think  it  would  knock  any 
woman  to  pieces  for  her  husband  to  chuck  it  all  up,  and  cut 
and  run  on  his  honeymoon." 

"Not  necessarily:  it  would  depend  upon  the  husband," 
answered  Fabia,  in  a  tone  which  implied  that  if  only  Cap- 
tain Gaythorne  had  seen  fit  to  cut  and  run  on  his  honey- 
moon it  would  have  been  the  most  advantageous  arrange- 
ment possible  for  all  parties  concerned. 

"  But  I  really  think  the  poor  little  thing  was  awfully 
gone  on  Carr,  don't  you  know?"  persisted  Charlie,  still 
intent  upon  his  cowardly  desire  for  peace  at  any  price. 

"  Naturally.  Those  plain,  dowdy  little  women  are 
always  off  their  heads  with  gratitude  to  any  man  who  will 
marry  them:  and  it  is  extremely  bad  for  the  man." 

"  Well,  no  one  would  say  you  were  the  sort  of  woman 
to  be  grateful  to  any  lucky  beggar  who  was  so  fortunate  as 
to  marry  you,"  said  Charlie,  with  a  brave  attempt  to  be 
jocular. 

[235] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

"  I  am  not."  The  reply  was  sufficient  to  crush  a  bolder 
man  than  Charles.  Again  he  changed  the  subject. 

"  I  say,  Fabia,  don't  you  think  we  ought  to  do  some- 
thing for  that  poor  little  woman,  to  make  things  a  bit 
easier  for  her?  Especially  now  the  mater  is  so  busy,  and 
can't  see  after  her."  Charlie  had  inherited  much  of  his 
mother's  kindness  of  heart. 

Fabia  looked  up  languidly.  "What  sort  of  a  thing? 
Find  her  another  husband,  do  you  mean?" 

"Oh,  Fabia!"  Charlie  was  really  shocked.  "By  Jove, 
no!  She  isn't  that  sort.  You  talk  as  if  husbands  were  like 
footmen:  so  that  if  one  doesn't  suit  the  situation  you  can 
dismiss  him  and  get  another." 

"  That  is  how  I  regard  them." 

Charlie  was  positively  helpless.  "  But  what  about  mar- 
riage-vows, and  '  till  death  us  do  part,'  and  things  of  that 
kind?" 

"  I  do  not  believe  in  them." 

"  I  say,  old  girl,  you  should  just  have  heard  my  father's 
views  about  marriage,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing!  He'd  got 
most  tremendous  notions  about  the  sanctity  of  it,  and  every- 
thing in  that  line,  don't  you  know?  " 

"  I  cannot  help  that.    I  never  married  your  father." 

Charlie  looked  puzzled.  "  Of  course  not :  you  couldn't 
have  done,  as  he  was  married  long  before  either  you  or  I 
were  born." 

"  Which  was  to  his  credit,"  added  Fabia. 

Charlie  was  more  shocked  than  ever.  "  I  say,  darling, 
I  wish  you  wouldn't  say  such  things.  I  don't  like  it." 

"  Not  like  me  to  praise  your  father's  moral  character  ? 
How  very  peculiar  of  you !  Men  generally  like  their  imme- 
diate ancestors  to  be  commended."  Fabia's  smile  was  dis- 

[236] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

tinctly  impertinent:  but  all  the  same  she  felt  a  faint  glim- 
mering of  respect  for  a  husband  who  had  the  courage  to 
admit  that  there  was  anything  about  his  wife  that  he  did 
not  like. 

But  the  ill-starred  Charlie  rapidly  extinguished  that  faint 
glimmer.  "  Not  in  that  way,  my  darling:  I'm  sure  the  mater 
wouldn't  approve  of  it:  so  don't  do  it,  there's  a  good  girl!  " 

Fabia  shrugged  her  shoulders.  How  could  she  respect  a 
husband  who  was  always  bolstering  up  his  marital  authority 
by  quotations  from  his  female  parent? 

"  My  point  is,"  continued  the  well-meaning  blunderer, 
"  that  my  father  was  a  married  man  himself,  don't  you 
know?" 

"  I  never  heard  the  faintest  whisper  to  the  contrary." 

"  Fabia,  don't  be  so  stupid,  there's  a  good  child!  What  I 
mean  is  that,  being  a  married  man  himself,  he  knew  what 
he  was  talking  about." 

"  And  the  fact  that  he  was  married — and  married  as  he 
was — makes  his  opinion  upon  the  indissolubility  of  marriage 
all  the  more  valuable — and  remarkable.  There  I  agree 
with  you."  Although  in  her  way  Fabia  had  a  sincere 
respect  for  her  mother-in-law,  she  could  imagine  that  an 
eternity  spent  in  that  lady's  society  would  not  appear  short. 

"  He  had  most  awfully  fine  notions  about  marriage : 
about  its  being  '  for  better  for  worse '  and  '  for  richer  for 
poorer,'  and  all  that,  don't  you  know?  "  continued  Charlie. 

"  He  didn't  know  much  about  '  for  poorer,'  did  he?  " 

"Of  course  not.  How  could  he?  He  and  my  mother 
both  had  very  tidy  fortunes  as  well  as  the  Gaythorne 
estates."  In  vain  poor  Charlie  endeavoured  to  follow  the 
intricate  workings  of  his  wife's  mind. 

"  Then  his  opinions  did  not  count  for  much  after  all.     It 

[237] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

is  when  you  come  to  '  for  worse '  and  '  for  poorer '  that  the 
shoe  begins  to  pinch.  Many  married  people  can  stand  the 
strain  of  '  for  better '  and  '  for  richer ' — though  that  is  no 
slight  one  at  times,  I  admit." 

"  Oh !  darling,  I  don't  know  about  that.  Look  at  love 
in  a  cottage,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Heaps  of  people 
are  most  awfully  keen  on  it." 

"  I  never  was  in  love  and  I  never  was  in  a  cottage :  so  I 
cannot  form  an  opinion  upon  the  advantages  and  disad- 
vantages of  either." 

Charlie's  face  went  very  red,  but  he  was  too  much 
wounded  to  lose  his  temper.  "  I  wish  you  were  in  love, 
Fabia,"  he  said,  pleadingly. 

His  wife  laughed  lightly.  "  It  might  be  rather  unpleas- 
ant for  you  if  I  were !  But  it  is  really  very  unselfish  of  you 
to  put  my  pleasure  before  yours  in  this  way." 

"  I  mean  in  love  with  me." 

Fabia  laughed  again.  "What  an  idea!  It  is  quite  gone 
out  of  fashion  for  a  woman  to  be  in  love  with  her  own  hus- 
band. Of  course,  a  person  like  Janet  Carr  is:  but  it  is 
just  part  and  parcel  of  her  general  dowdiness.  I  thought 
you  hated  a  dowdy  woman." 

"  So  I  do ;  I  detest  the  sight  of  them." 

"  Then  there  is  nothing  dowdier  than  to  be  in  love  with 
one's  own  husband.  It  is  on  a  par  with  a  shawl  and  ring- 
lets, and  a  white  camellia  fastened  by  the  brooch." 

Charlie  looked — as  he  felt — very  miserable.  He  knew 
that  his  own  views  were  right  and  his  wife's  wrong:  and 
he  also  knew  that  he  was  not  clever  enough  to  demonstrate 
either  of  these  propositions.  So  he  took  refuge  in  an  illus- 
tration: the  safest  resource  for  all  those  not  gifted  in 
argument. 

[238] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  Isabel  Seaton  is  not  dowdy,  and  she  is  in  love  with  her 
own  husband,"  he  said. 

"  That  is  so :  but  Isabel  is  an  exception — to  that  as  to 
every  rule."  Since  her  marriage,  Fabia  had  learnt  to  appre- 
ciate Mrs.  Seaton  as  she  had  never  appreciated  her  before. 
A  friendship  between  a  married  woman  and  a  single  one 
is  rarely  successful,  unless  it  dates  from  pre-matrimonial 
days.  The  husband  and  the  confidential  friend  are  not 
often  compatible  ingredients. 

"  Yet  she  always  fancies  herself  as  being  so  commonplace 
and  normal  and  natural,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  don't 
you  know?  " 

"  Of  course  she  does :  that  is  where  she  shows  herself  so 
exceptional.  It  is  the  commonplace  people  who  think  that 
no  one  ever  felt  as  they  feel,  or  suffered  as  they  suffer,  or 
loved  as  they  love.  I  used  to  be  a  bit  like  that  myself  at 
one  time,  till  I  learnt  from  Isabel  how  very  commonplace 
it  was." 

"  When  did  you  think  that  no  one  ever  loved  as  you 
did?"  asked  Charlie,  eagerly.  Men  are  very  like  children 
in  one  respect,  they  always  get  hold  of  the  least  important 
part  of  a  toy  or  a  conversation,  and  fix  all  their  attention 
upon  that,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  really  characteristic  and 
interesting  portion  of  the  business  in  hand. 

Fabia  told  her  husband  the  truth.  She  saw  no  reason 
for  not  doing  so  on  the  present  occasion.  "  I  never  actually 
thought  that  nobody  ever  loved  as  I  did:  but  I  used  to 
think  that  nobody  ever  could  love  as  I  could,  till  Isabel  and 
experience  taught  me  what  a  fool  I  was." 

"  Isabel  would  be  pretty  mad  if  she  heard  you  say  that 
she  was  an  exception." 

Fabia  smiled.    "  Would  she?    She  is  very  fond  of  calling 

[239  ] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

herself  normal  and  commonplace:  but  I  doubt  if  she  would 
be  equally  pleased  if  her  friends  endorsed  her  statements." 

"  Well,  anyhow  you  can't  deny  that  she  is  jolly  smart, 
taking  her  all  round,  and  that  she  is  in  love  with  her  own 
husband,"  repeated  Charlie,  sticking  to  his  point. 

"  I  cannot :  and  yet  I  wonder  at  it.  Mr.  Seaton  always 
appears  to  me  an  extremely  dull  person." 

"  He  is  the  sort  of  chap  that  wouldn't  care  a  rap  how  he 
appeared  to  you  or  anybody,  as  long  as  his  own  wife  liked 
him,"  said  Charlie,  speaking  truth. 

"I  know:  that  is  one  reason  why  I  dislike  him.  Men 
who  are  very  much  in  love  with  their  wives  always  bore  me 
to  extinction." 

"  Well,  I  am  very  much  in  love  with  mine,  heaven 
knows !  " 

"  And — unlike  Isabel — you  are  not  an  exception  to  the 
rule." 

The  arrow  went  home.  Charlie  got  up  from  his  chair 
and  walked  towards  the  door.  "  I  say,  Fabia,  you  are  a 
bit  too  hard  on  a  poor  devil  who  worships  the  very 
ground  you  walk  on.  Heaven  knows  I  do  all  in  my  power 
to  please  you  and  make  you  happy:  and  yet  the  more  he 
does  for  you  the  more  you  seem  to  despise  and  hate  a  fellow ! 
What  else  can  I  do  to  make  you  care  for  me  and  treat  me 
as  a  wife  should  ?  "  And  poor  Charlie — like  jesting  Pilate 
— '  paused  not  for  an  answer  ' :  but  went  out  of  the  room, 
banging  the  door  after  him  in  his  futile  misery:  while  his 
wife  decided  within  herself  that  unless  some  new  interest 
or  occupation  were  brought  into  her  life — and  at  once — 
she  should  die  of  ennui.  So  she  made  haste  to  write  to  her 
cousin,  Ram  Chandar. 

[240] 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

DR.    MUKHARJI 

EARLY  in  the  spring  a  considerable  sensation  was  created  in 
the  fashionable  world  by  an  oriental  occultist  who  set  up  a 
sort  of  seance  in  a  small  flat  in  Mount  Street — a  Dr.  Muk- 
harji.  He  told  fortunes,  consulted  crystals,  cured  nervous 
disorders,  and  generally  comported  himself  after  the  manner 
of  his  kind.  With  that  passion  for  anything  absolutely  new 
— and  especially  for  anything  new  concerning  the  eternal 
verities — which  characterises  the  denizens  of  London  to-day 
as  it  characterised  the  denizens  of  Athens  long  ago,  it 
became  the  mode  to  run  after  Dr.  Mukharji,  and  to  accept 
with  faith  and  humility  his  additions  to  accepted  dogma  and 
his  emendations  of  revealed  truth.  In  short,  Dr.  Mukharji 
became  so  much  the  fashion  that  he  would  have  found  no 
difficulty,  had  he  been  that  way  inclined,  in  starting  a 
brand-new  religion  and  securing  countless  converts  to  the 
same:  but  it  happened  that  he  was  not  that  way  inclined: 
so  he  contented  himself  with  teaching  a  sort  of  neo- 
Buddhism,  Pseudo-Theosophy,  and  embellishing  it  with  cer- 
tain embroideries  from  the  occult. 

Of  course  it  was  women  who  ran  after  him,  not  men. 
Men — let  it  be  admitted  to  their  credit — are  more  diffident 
in  exchanging  old  lamps  for  new  than  women  are:  they 
hesitate  before  giving  up  the  Word  which  has  been  a  lan- 
tern unto  their  feet,  in  favour  of  some  new  fad  in  electric 

[24I] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

lighting:  but  women  as  a  rule  will  recklessly  barter  away 
the  seven  golden  candlesticks  of  the  Book  of  Revelation  for 
the  patent  lamp  which  some  pioneer  of  modern  thought  has 
hung  on  the  front  of  his  bicycle.  Therefore  women  crowded 
to  the  little  flat  in  Mount  Street,  and  confided  their  respec- 
tive pasts  to  Dr.  Mukharji;  on  condition  that  he  would  in 
return  confide  to  them  their  respective  futures. 

Many  silly  women  were  led  captive  by  the  strange  devices 
of  the  occultist:  but  none  attended  his  rooms  in  Mount 
Street  with  such  frequency  and  regularity  as  Fabia ;  so  much 
so  that  ere  long  scandal  began  to  busy  itself  with  the  names 
of  Dr.  Mukharji  and  Mrs.  Charles  Gaythorne,  and  to  hint 
very  unpleasant  things  concerning  that  lady's  repeated  visits 
to  the  oriental  quack  and  fortune-teller. 

Then,  at  last,  Isabel  Seaton  broke  through  her  rule  and 
interfered. 

"  I've  got  something  rather  horrid  to  say  to  you,  Fabia," 
she  began ;  "  I  hate  saying  it  and  you'll  hate  hearing  it,  but 
it  has  got  to  be  said,  so  here  goes." 

"Then  why  say  it  at  all?"  Fabia  interrupted  her.  "  If 
neither  you  nor  I  will  derive  any  pleasure  from  the  com- 
munication, why  impart  it  ?  " 

"  Because  my  conscience  insists  upon  it :  and  my  con- 
science so  rarely  mentions  anything  or  makes  itself  in  any 
way  troublesome,  that  I  hardly  like  to  refuse  it  on  the  rare 
occasions  when  it  does." 

"  Yours  certainly  is  not  an  importunate  conscience," 
Fabia  admitted,  with  her  languid  smile. 

"  No,  it  isn't.  Its  worst  enemy  couldn't  call  it  a  chatty 
sort  of  conscience,  for  it  hardly  ever  speaks.  From  week's 
end  to  week's  end  I  don't  hear  its  voice.  Therefore  when  it 
does  begin  to  whisper  I  feel  bound  to  listen  to  it,  as  I  cer- 

[242] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

tainly  shouldn't  do  if  it  were  one  of  those  tiresome,  garru- 
lous consciences  which  never  give  their  owners  a  moment's 
peace.  You  should  just  hear  Paul's!  The  thing  can't  hold 
its  tongue  for  five  minutes  together,  but  is  always  poking 
its  nose  into  matters  that  don't  concern  it." 

"  I  could  imagine  that  Mr.  Seaton's  conscience  is  the 
sort  that  might  give  trouble  to  its  owner." 

Paul's  wife  sighed  deeply.  "  I  believe  you,  and  not  to 
its  owner  only!  It  is  a  typical  specimen  of  the  Nonconform- 
ist conscience  in  full  working  order,  with  all  the  latest 
improvements  laid  on.  The  moment  he  gives  it  its  head  it 
begins  grumbling  and  spluttering  like  an  infuriated  motor- 
car, till  his  life  and  mine  become  burdens  to  us.  And  the 
more  we  suffer  the  more  that  terrible  conscience  sets  all  its 
hideous  machinery  in  motion.  Unfortunately  Paul  is  such 
an  unselfish  husband  that  he  shares  everything  with  me, 
even  down  to  his  conscientious  scruples:  and  they,  alas! 
are  so  numerous  and  so  active !  "  And  Isabel  sighed  again. 

"  Poor  Isabel !  "  But  there  was  envy  rather  than  pity 
in  Fabia's  tone.  She  could  not  help  feeling  the  contrast 
between  Isabel's  half-laughing  and  wholly-devoted  attitude 
towards  her  husband,  and  the  dreary  dullness  of  her  own 
relations  with  Charlie.  She  despised  him  far  too  much  to 
laugh  at  him. 

"  When  first  I  was  married,"  Isabel  continued,  "  I  used 
to  picture  myself  as  a  bold  young  Perseus  about  to  deliver 
my  Andromeda  of  a  husband  from  his  monster  of  a  con- 
science: but  as  the  enlightening  of  early  married  life  went 
on,  I  realised  that  Paul  was  rather  like  those  Indian  people 
who  allow  white  bulls  and  white  elephants  to  trample  them 
to  death  because  they  worship  the  animals.  So  now  I  hang 
garlands  myself  round  the  neck  of  the  creature  on  its  gala 

[243] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

days,  and  lie  down  alongside  of  my  husband  while  it  plays 
the  giddy  Juggernaut  over  our  prostrate  forms.  Believe 
me,  my  dear,  a  husband  with  a  conscience  is  no  joke !  " 

"  Yet  I  can  imagine  that  a  husband  without  a  conscience 
would  be  still  less  of  one." 

"  Far  less:  that's  the  difficulty!  But  we  have  wandered 
to  my  beloved  husband's  conscience,  while  the  conversation 
began  about  mine." 

"  I  think  you  said  yours  was  not  of  the  white  bull  and 
white  elephant  species?"  Fabia  endeavoured  once  more  to 
stave  off  what  she  guessed  was  coming,  although  she  knew 
that  this  procrastination  would  have  no  effect  in  the  long 
run.  Isabel  might  not  be  as  direct  in  her  methods  as  was 
old  Mrs.  Gaythorne;  but  she  invariably  arrived  finally  at 
the  point  for  which  she  had  started. 

"  Not  it :  it  is  more  like  the  War  Office,  or  the  Local 
Government  Board:  never  interferes  until  it  is  too  late  to 
mend  anything,  and  never  locks  a  stable-door  until  all  the 
horses  have  died  of  typhoid." 

"  A  convenient  sort  of  conscience  to  keep !  " 

"Very;  and  very  little  expense.  But  just  now  it  is  so 
noisy  in  clamouring  for  a  new  lock  on  the  empty  stable-door 
that  I've  no  option  but  to  listen  to  it.  Fabia,  you  are  going 
too  often  to  see  that  horrid  cousin  of  yours,  Ram  Chandar 
Mukharji.  People  are  talking  about  it — and  about  you!" 

Fabia  smiled  scornfully.     "Let  them  talk!" 

"  But,  my  dear,  that's  just  what  I  don't  want  to  let  them 
do:  talking  is  a  most  hurtful  and  dangerous  practice." 

"  I  do  not  care  what  they  say  about  me  and  Ram 
Chandar." 

"But  you  ought  to  care,  my  dear  Fabia:  you  really 
ought!  Already  their  talking  is  beginning  to  do  you  harm: 

[244] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

and  as  for  Charlie,  he  will  go  mad  when  he  hears  of  It — 
as  he  is  bound  sooner  or  later  to  do.  Even  the  people 
whom  it  most  concerns  hear  of  a  thing  eventually — though 
of  course  not  till  long  after  everybody  else." 

"  I  do  not  care,"  Fabia  repeated. 

"  You  ought  never  to  have  let  that  tiresome  cousin  of 
yours  come  over  from  India  at  all!  I  met  him  when  I  was 
out  there  years  ago,  and  thought  him  a  most  weird  and 
uncanny  person.  I'm  sure  Charlie  wouldn't  approve  of 
him,  as  men  always  hate  what  is  weird  and  uncanny  and 
different  from  what  they  learned  at  their  mothers'  knees. 
Paul  disapproves  most  frightfully  of  anything  to  do  with 
occultism  and  spiritualism  and  things  of  that  kind,  so  I 
never  let  him  know  how  intensely  they  interest  me." 

"  I  do  not  care  whether  Charlie  approves  of  my  visits  to 
Mount  Street  or  not.  It  is  no  business  of  his." 

Stern  disapproval  looked  out  of  Mrs.  Seaton's  blue  eyes. 
"  Oh,  Fabia,  how  horrid  of  you!  I  think  it  is  disgusting  to 
speak  of  your  husband  like  that.  Why,  if  Paul  disapproves 
of  anybody,  it  always  turns  me  against  them,  even  if  I've 
adored  them  up  to  then :  and  if  he  disapproves  of  my  doing 
things,  I  never  really  enjoy  doing  them,  even  though  I  have 
revelled  in  it  before.  In  fact,  I  often  refrain  from  asking 
him  his  opinion  of  things  and  people,  for  fear  he  should 
spoil  my  pleasure  in  them  for  the  future." 

Again  the  scornful  smile  curled  Fabia's  lips.  "  If  you 
really  loved  him  as  much  as  you  think  you  do,  you  would 
obey  him  in  the  spirit  as  well  as  the  letter." 

"  Now,  Fabia,  don't  begin  teaching  your  grandmother 
how  to  love  her  husband,  because  I  know  a  precious  sight 
more  about  that  than  you  do!  I  may  not  know  much;  but 
I  do  know  how  a  woman  feels  who  is  absolutely  devoted  to 

[245] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

her  husband,  and  I  know  that  she  doesn't  feel  by  any  means 
a  fool.  If  you've  lost  your  heart,  it  doesn't  follow  that 
you've  lost  your  brain  as  well." 

"  Still,  if  you  lose  your  heart,  it  frequently  follows  that 
you  will  also  lose  your  head,"  persisted  Fabia. 

"  My  head  isn't  of  the  losing  sort,  thank  you !  I  rarely 
mislay  it,  but  generally  carry  it  about  with  me  under  my 
arm,  a  la  S.  Winifred,  so  that  I  can  lay  my  hands  on  it 
whenever  I  think  fit." 

"  Well,  Isabel,  you  must  admit  that  your  husband's  opin- 
ion would  carry  more  weight  with  anybody  than  my  hus- 
band's would:  therefore  you  cannot  wonder  at  my  thinking 
less  of  Charlie's  disapproval  than  you  do  of  Mr.  Seaton's." 

Isabel's  eye  twinkled  in  a  manner  which  in  a  less  mature 
and  distinguished  matron  would  have  been  called  a  wink. 
"  But  I  am  affected  by  Paul's  opinions  even  when  I  am 
aware  that  he  doesn't  know  what  he  is  talking  about,  and 
that  they  aren't  worth  the  breath  with  which  they  are 
uttered.  That  is  where  the  rich  joke  of  being  married 
comes  in !  " 

"  And  yet  you  say  you  are  not  a  fool  ?  " 

"  Certainly :  because  I  know  that  I  am :  and  to  be  wise 
enough  to  know  that  you  are  a  fool  is  proof  positive  that 
you  are  not  one." 

Suddenly  Fabia's  conversation  took  a  desperate  turn. 
"  Oh,  Isabel,  you  have  no  idea  how  awfully  dull  it  is  to 
be  married  to  a  man  like  Charlie!  I've  borne  it  as  long  as 
I  can,  and  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  could  bear  it  any  longer!  It 
is  all  very  well  for  you,  who  are  married  to  a  clever  man,  to 
preach  about  the  due  subjection  of  a  wife:  but  you  would 
sing  a  different  tune  if  you  were  married  to  a  well-meaning 
goose." 

[246] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

Isabel  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  think  so.  I  should 
never  find  out  that  he  was  a  goose  if  I  were  in  love  with 
him.  For  all  I  know,  Paul  may  be  one  of  the  dullest  men 
on  the  face  of  the  earth :  in  fact  I  know  certain  people  con- 
sider him  so:  but  to  me  he  is  the  one  supremely  interesting 
fact  in  the  universe — the  one  sufficient  and  satisfactory  enter- 
tainment of  creation.  It  is  far  more  interesting  to  me  to 
hear  Paul  say  that  there  is  a  button  off  his  shirt,  than  to  hear 
the  greatest  man  of  the  day  hold  forth  upon  the  most  burn- 
ing questions.  But  that  isn't  cleverness,  bless  you! — it's 
love." 

"But  I'm  not  in  love  with  Charlie,  you  see.  I  never 
pretended  to  be.  That  is  where  the  tragedy  of  my  life 
comes  in.  If  only  I  loved  him,  then  everything  would  be 
different." 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Isabel's  tongue  to  say,  "  Then  you 
ought  not  to  have  married  him:  "  but  once  more  her  usually 
somnolent  conscience  showed  signs  of  vigour.  Had  she  not 
done  all  in  her  power  to  bring  about  a  marriage  between 
Fabia  and  Charlie  Gaythorne:  and  was  not  a  portion  of  the 
responsibility  of  their  unhappy  union  hers? 

Fabia  went  on  somewhat  pathetically:  "You  cannot 
imagine  how  horribly  dull  it  is  to  be  married  to  a  man  with 
whom  you  are  not  in  love;  you  get  so  deadly  tired  of  his 
anecdotes.  I  believe  that  if  a  woman  isn't  in  love  with  her 
husband,  she  could  bear  anything — even  his  neglect  or  his 
downright  cruelty — better  than  his  anecdotes." 

"  You  didn't  object  to  Charlie's  anecdotes  so  much  before 
you  married  him:  and  I'm  sure  you  heard  them  all  then, 
so  you  knew  exactly  what  they  were  about.  You  married 
with  your  ears  open,  se  to  speak." 

"  I  know  I  did :  but  things  sound  so  different  before  and 

[247] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

after  marriage.  A  man  may  be  an  admirable  pastime  but 
an  extremely  poor  profession.  He  may  excel  as  a  recreation 
but  become  wearisome  as  a  duty.  He  may  prove  delightful 
as  an  hors  d'ceuvre,  but  deadly  as  a  piece  de  resistance." 

"  Fabia,  you  really  ought  not  to  discuss  your  husband 
with  another  woman  in  this  fashion,"  said  Isabel  reprov- 
ingly; then — having  satisfied  her  awakening  conscience — 
she  added,  "  What  anecdote  of  Charlie's  is  it  that  bores 
you  most?  " 

"  There  are  several  of  them  that  almost  kill  me  with 
exhaustion.  No  harm  in  them,  you  know,  but  as  long  and 
pointless  as  a  darning-needle.  And  nearly  always  about  his 
parents;  so  dutiful  and  yet  so  dull!  I  think,  however,  the 
story  that  wearies  me  most  is  about  Mrs.  Gaythorne  and  a 
harvest-thanksgiving.  It  lasts  for  ages,  and  always  requires 
a  book-marker." 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  Isabel  sympathetically. 

"  You  must,  if  you  know  Charlie !  Well,  I  am  now 
twenty-three  years  old  and  Charlie  twenty-six,  so  we  shall 
in  all  human  probability  have  about  another  half  century 
of  each  other's  society:  and  just  think  how  often  during  that 
time  I  shall  hear  the  story  of  Mrs.  Gaythorne  and  the 
harvest-thanksgiving!  It  is  appalling  to  contemplate!" 

"  It  is  like  thinking  of  eternity  or  climbing  up  a  winding 
staircase — no  end  and  no  beginning!" 

"  I  suppose,  however,"  Fabia  continued,  "  that  in  the 
most  favourable  circumstances  marriage,  like  politics,  is 
the  science  of  the  second-best,  and  it  is  absurd  to  expect  the 
ideal  in  it." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  retorted  Isabel,  with  some  heat:  "it 
is  either  the  height  of  bliss  or  else  the  depth  of  boredom.  It 
is  the  very  opposite  of  the  second-best,  as  it  must  be  the  very 

[248] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

best  or  the  very  worst.  A  husband  is  either  the  one  man  in 
the  world,  or  else  the  one  man  that  you  wish  wasn't  in  the 
world:  there  is  no  happy  mean  in  matrimony." 

"  Well,  Isabel,  I  should  have  been  abundantly  satisfied 
with  the  second-best,  if  only  I  could  have  secured  it."  And 
there  was  a  wistful  sound  in  the  sweet  voice. 

"  Second-best,  indeed!  "  retorted  Mrs.  Seaton,  tossing  her 
head.  "  And  yet  I  must  admit,"  she  added  with  a  humor- 
ous twinkle,  "  that  a  good  many  men  like  their  second  best." 

Fabia  agreed  with  her.  "  That  is  so :  I  fancy  that  my 
late  respected  father-in-law  would  have  been  among  that 
number  if  only  he  had  had  the  chance." 

"  Paul  won't,"  remarked  Paul's  first,  with  much  decision 
in  her  tone. 

"  You  would  hate  to  think  that  he  could  have  a  second, 
wouldn't  you?  " 

"  Not  I,"  replied  Isabel  airily.  "  I'm  not  that  selfish, 
dog-in-the-manger  sort  of  a  woman!  I've  told  Paul  over 
and  over  again  that  if  anything  happens  to  me  he  is  at 
liberty  to  marry  again  as  soon  as  he  likes.  Of  course  he'll 
find  any  other  woman  awfully  dull  after  me,  but  I  can't 
help  that:  he  must  take  the  rough  with  the  smooth  and  the 
dull  with  the  lively,  as  other  men  much  married  have  had 
to  do,  from  Henry  the  Eighth  downwards.  It  is  unreason- 
able of  any  man  to  expect  to  get  all  his  wives  cast  in  the 
same  mould !  " 

And  then — having  shot  her  arrow  and  given  her  hint — 
Isabel  wandered  off  into  indifferent  subjects.  She  had  learnt 
the  great  social  art  of  punctuation — she  knew  where  to 
stop;  and  was  far  too  much  a  woman  of  the  world  to 
indulge  in  the  unpardonable  practice  known  as  "  rubbing 
it  in." 

[249] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

But  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Seaton's  well-timed  word  of  warn- 
ing, Fabia  continued  to  visit  the  small  flat  in  Mount  Street 
far  oftener  than  was  wise  or  desirable.  She  was  constantly 
seen  going  in  and  out,  and  people  talked  more  than  ever  in 
consequence.  In  time  the  gossip  reached  the  ears  of  Captain 
Gaythorne:  but  he  made  no  sign.  He  was  the  sort  of  man 
who  would  find  it  impossible  to  speak  to  his  wife  upon  such 
a  subject  as  this;  his  innate  chivalry  revolted  at  the  mere 
idea  of  such  a  thing.  But  although  he  was  slow  to  speak 
and  slow  to  wrath  in  his  dealings  with  women,  he  was 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other  in  his  dealings  with  his  own 
sex:  and  he  made  up  his  mind  that  if  things  continued  to  go 
on  like  this  it  would  not  be  long  before  Dr.  Mukharji  had 
a  very  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  indeed. 

Charlie  Gaythorne  might  be  afraid  to  scold  his  wife:  but 
he  was  not  at  all  afraid  to  give  his  wife's  cousin  a  sound 
horsewhipping:  and  he  intended  to  do  so  at  the  earliest 
opportunity. 

Isabel,  finding  that  her  hint  to  Fabia  had  been  of  no 
avail,  decided,  with  characteristic  courage,  to  tackle  the 
occultist  himself  upon  the  subject.  She  was  still  firmly  set 
against  speaking  to  Charlie.  Although  she  knew  too  much 
about  men  to  suppose  for  an  instant  that  they  are  as  blind 
as  they  frequently  in  their  mysterious  wisdom  pretend  to  be, 
she  nevertheless  recognised  the  bare  possibility  of  Captain 
Gaythorne's  being  as  ignorant  of  Fabia's  goings-on  as  he 
appeared ;  and  in  that  case  she  felt  she  would  rather  die  than 
be  the  instrument  employed  to  open  his  mercifully-closed 
eyelids.  Therefore — having  taken  the  wise  and  wifely  pre- 
caution of  not  mentioning  to  her  husband  beforehand  what 
she  intended  to  do,  lest  he  should  see  fit  to  forbid  the  same — 
Mrs.  Paul  Seaton  joined  herself  to  the  multitude  of  silly 

[250] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

women  who  were  being  led  astray  by  the  false  doctrines  of 
Dr.  Mukharji,  and  presented  herself  at  the  door  of  the  flat 
in  Mount  Street. 

She  was  shown  into  a  waiting-room  tastily  though  scantily 
furnished,  and  already  half  full  of  fashionably  dressed 
women.  To  her  profound  relief  there  were  none  of  them 
who  were  known  to  her  personally,  though  she  knew  one  or 
two  quite  well  by  sight ;  and  as  she  had  added  to  her  toilet  a 
thick  motor-veil  she  cherished  vain  hopes  that  no  one  would 
recognise  her. 

"  It's  a  good  thing  that  I  put  on  a  motor-veil  like  the 
ostrich,  and  so  am  invisible,"  she  said  to  herself:  "though 
I'm  convinced  that  some  of  these  horrid  old  cats  will  know 
who  I  am  all  the  same,  and  talk  about  it  till  it  gets  round 
to  Paul.  But  that  won't  matter,  as  I  shall  tell  him  myself 
at  the  proper  time,  when  it  is  too  late  for  him  to  prevent 
my  coming.  Fortunately  it  is  often  too  late  to  forbid  and 
never  too  late  to  forgive:  and  that  is  the  exact  time  for 
making  confessions  to  a  husband !  " 

As  Mrs.  Seaton  had  taken  the  further  precaution  of 
making  an  appointment  with  Dr.  Mukharji,  she  had  not 
long  to  wait  in  her  ostrich-like  invisibility;  but  was  shortly 
ushered,  by  a  closely- veiled  female  attendant  in  gorgeous 
native  dress,  into  the  presence  of  the  popular  charlatan. 

Isabel  thought  him  looking  much  older  than  when  last 
she  saw  him  in  those  far-off,  pre-nuptial  days  when  she  was 
living  with  the  Parleys :  but  that  was  hardly  to  be  wondered 
at:  as  she  herself  had  then  been  in  the  early  dawn  of  the 
twenties,  and  now  she  was  fast  coming  within  sight  of  her 
fortieth  milestone.  There  was  no  doubt  that  she  did  not 
look  as  young  now  as  she  had  looked  then ;  but  she  took  the 
flattering  unction  to  her  soul  which  we  all  take  when  we 


THE    SUBJECTION 

meet  friends  and  acquaintances  whom  we  have  not  seen  for 
several  years — namely,  that  though  we  may  have  aged  a 
little,  they  have  aged  much  more.  And  there  was  more 
ground  for  Isabel's  assumption  than  there  frequently  is  in 
such  circumstances:  Ram  Chandar  had  certainly  altered 
more  than  she  in  the  long  years  since  last  they  met.  In  the 
first  place  he  was  no  longer  clean-shaven,  but  a  long  black 
beard  protected  his  chest  from  the  inclemencies  of  the  Eng- 
lish climate:  and  a  beard  always  ages  a  man.  But  his  dark 
eyes,  so  like  Fabia's,  retained  their  youthful  brilliancy;  and 
his  hands,  as  small  and  delicate  as  a  woman's,  testified  as  of 
yore  to  the  highly-strung  nervous  temperament  concealed 
under  his  manner  of  apparently  immutable  calm.  He  had 
not  adopted  the  good  old  English  custom  of  measuring  the 
flight  of  time  by  the  weights  of  avoirdupois:  on  the  con- 
trary he  looked,  if  possible,  slimmer  and  slighter  than  he 
used  to  do,  and  had  lost  none  of  his  eastern,  panther-like 
grace. 

"  So  you  also  are  among  my  disciples,  Mrs.  Seaton,  as  I 
also  am  among  the  prophets?"  he  said,  as  he  advanced  to 
meet  his  visitor,  whom  he  recognised  at  once  in  spite  of  her 
attempted  disguise.  He  was  amused  at  her  coming  to  con- 
sult him,  and  he  showed  it;  he  was  fully  aware  of  Paul 
Seaton's  uncompromising  hostility  towards  everything  con- 
nected with  occultism  and  the  like;  and  anything  in  the 
form  of  wifely  insubordination  tickled  his  sense  of  humour. 

Finding  her  incognito  thus  ruthlessly  thrust  aside,  the 
ostrich  threw  back  her  inadequate  disguise  somewhat 
haughtily.  "  I  have  hardly  come  to  ask  advice,  Dr.  Muk- 
harji,  but  rather  to  administer  it." 

"  Pray  be  seated,"  he  said,  in  his  soft,  oriental  voice, 
placing  a  chair  for  Mrs.  Seaton. 

[252] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  I  shall  not  detain  you  long,"  Isabel  began,  and  her 
manner  was  that  of  the  grande  dame,  which  she  could 
assume  when  she  thought  it  necessary  and  worth  the  trou- 
ble. "  But  I  have  just  one  thing  to  say  to  you." 

"  Regarding  your  future?  " 

"  No ;  regarding  yours." 

The  occultist  bowed  politely.  "  I  await  your  instructions, 
Mrs.  Seaton.  It  is  an  agreeable  change  for  me  to  take  the 
role  of  learner  instead  of  that  of  teacher." 

"  I  have  come  to  speak  to  you,  Dr.  Mukharji,  about  my 
friend,  and  your  cousin,  Mrs.  Charles  Gaythorne." 

Again  Mukharji  bowed.  "  An  ever  interesting  subject 
to  me." 

"  You  are  doubtless  unaware,"  continued  Isabel,  more 
stately  than  ever,  "  that  unpleasant  remarks  are  being  made 
about  your  cousin's  too  frequent  visits  to  your  house.  I  gave 
her  a  hint  upon  the  subject,  but  with  no  avail:  she  is  still 
so  young  that  she  hardly  realises  how  dangerous  it  is  to 
bring  down  scandal  even  upon  the  most  undeserving  head. 
But  you  and  I  are  older  than  she,  Dr.  Mukharji,  and  we 
understand  how  much  harm  can  be  done  to  a  woman  by 
ill-natured  gossip,  however  unfounded  it  may  be:  and  I 
therefore  come  to  you  to  ask  you  to  make  some  excuse  for 
lessening  Fabia's  visits  to  you,  both  as  regards  length  and 
number." 

A  mocking  smile  lit  up  the  dark  eyes  that  were  fixed  upon 
Isabel.  "  I  see :  you  make  an  appeal  to  me  to  give  up  the 
one  pleasure  of  my  life  at  your  bidding:  the  one  thing  that 
has  brought  me  all  the  way  from  India  here?  Certainly 
you  have  great  confidence  in  your  powers  of  persuasion, 
Mrs.  Seaton:  I  congratulate  you  upon  so  valuable  a  posses- 
sion as  unlimited  confidence  in  yourself." 

[253] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

Isabel  threw  back  her  head  haughtily.  "  You  mistake 
me,  Dr.  Mukharji:  I  use  no  persuasion  and  I  make  no 
appeal.  I  merely  point  out  to  you  what  is  required  of  you 
as  a  gentleman,  and  I  take  it  for  granted  that  you  cannot 
disappoint  me." 

The  mocking  eyes  still  smiled.  "  And  you  do  not  call 
that  an  appeal,  Mrs.  Seaton  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not :  it  would  be  an  insult  to  you  to  do  so. 
One  can  hardly  appeal  to  a  gentleman  to  act  as  a  gentleman, 
since  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  do  otherwise." 

The  charlatan  was  far  too  clever  not  to  recognise  and 
admire  cleverness  when  he  saw  it:  and  just  now  his  admira- 
tion for  his  visitor  was  marked.  The  girl  whom  Ram 
Chandar  had  once  condemned  as  shallow  and  noisy  had 
developed  into  an  extremely  accomplished  woman  of  the 
world.  "  Then  may  I  ask  precisely  what  you  did  come  to 
say  to  me,  Mrs.  Seaton?" 

"  Merely  to  inform  you  that  malicious  gossip  is  beginning 
to  couple  your  name  with  that  of  your  cousin." 

"And  did  you  suppose  I  did  not  know  that  already?  " 

"  Your  conduct  in  allowing  her  to  continue  her  visits 
proved  conclusively  that  you  did  not." 

"  So  you  took  the  trouble  to  come  here,  in  the  midst  of 
your  busy  life,  to  enlighten  an  ignorance  which  had  no 
existence  save  in  your  own  mind  ?  " 

"  Your  supposed  ignorance  did  not  originate  in  my  mind, 
but  in  your  manner,  Dr.  Mukharji.  I  had  no  alternative 
but  to  believe  that  you  were  unconscious  that  Fabia's  visits 
here  were  doing  her  harm,  as  otherwise  you  would  have 
declined  to  receive  her." 

"  You  flatter  me,  Mrs.  Seaton." 

"  If  you  consider  it  flattery  to  take  you  for  a  gentleman, 

[254] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

I  do,"  replied  the  undaunted  Isabel,  rising  from  her  seat. 
"  And  now,  having  said  what  I  came  to  say,  there  is  nothing 
left  to  say  but  good-morning." 

But  the  fortune-teller  was  not  going  to  let  her  escape  so 
easily.  "Stop  a  minute,  Mrs.  Seaton;  not  so  fast.  Now 
that  we  have  disposed  of  my  cousin  Fabia's  affairs,  would 
it  not  interest  you  to  hear  something  about  your  own  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,  thank  you,"  conscientiously  lied  Isabel.  If 
there  was  one  thing  she  would  have  loved  more  than  another 
it  was  to  have  her  future  foretold  by  the  eastern  seer:  but 
she  knew  that  her  husband  profoundly  disapproved  of  all 
such  dabbling  in  the  unseen ;  so  she  forbore. 

"  You  would  not  care  to  know  what  office  Mr.  Seaton 
will  hold  in  the  next  Cabinet,  or  whether  he  will  hold  any 
office  at  all  ?  You  are  indeed  curiously  lacking  in  curiosity !  " 

Isabel  was  sorely  tempted,  yet  she  still  withstood.  "  I 
will  not  trespass  on  your  time  so  far,  Dr.  Mukharji." 

"  Because  your  husband  has  forbidden  it,  I  see.  You  are 
indeed  a  wifely  wife,  Mrs.  Seaton !  " 

Isabel  did  not  deign  to  make  any  reply  to  this:  but  she 
could  not  fail  to  feel  there  was  something  rather  uncanny 
in  the  occultist's  knowledge  of  her  inmost  thoughts  and 
reasons. 

"  But  do  you  not  think  it  a  pity,"  continued  the  fortune- 
teller, "  to  allow  your  husband's  narrow  views  and 
unfounded  prejudices  to  limit  your  own  mind  and  intelli- 
gence? Do  you  not  think  that  in  a  matter  such  as  this — 
wherein,  if  you  will  permit  me  to  say  so,  you  are  far  more 
competent  to  judge  than  he  is — it  would  be  better  both  for 
you  and  for  him  that  you  should  disobey  Mr.  Seaton's  some- 
what unreasonable  and  arbitrary  dictum?" 

"  I  neither  disobey  nor  discuss  my  husband,  Dr.  Muk- 

[255] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

harji:  so  I  can  only  bid  you  good-morning."  And  Isabel 
swept  out  of  the  room  with  the  air  of  an  offended  queen. 

As  soon  as  she  had  gone  the  occultist  laughed  aloud.  "  To 
think  of  a  brilliant  woman  like  that  subjecting  herself  and 
submitting  her  judgment  to  a  narrow-minded  fool  such  as 
Paul  Seaton!  Truly  a  woman  in  love  is  a  wonderful  and 
remarkable  creature !  " 

Isabel  at  once  confessed  to  her  husband  where  she  had 
been  and  why — and  why  she  had  not  told  him  of  her  visit 
beforehand.  She  was  always  candour  itself,  unless  there 
was  any  very  special  reason  to  the  contrary — as  in  this  case 
there  undoubtedly  was,  for  Paul  would  have  vetoed  her 
visit  to  the  charlatan  at  once  had  he  heard  of  it.  It  was  not 
that  she  was  afraid  of  her  husband,  but  that  she  was  afraid 
of  herself:  not  that  she  felt  Paul's  fiats  must  not  be  dis- 
obeyed, but  that  she  knew  it  was  not  in  her  to  disobey  them 
if  once  they  had  gone  forth.  It  was  she,  not  Paul,  who 
would  be  really  vexed  if  her  obedience  to  her  husband  did 
not  come  up  to  her  own  somewhat  elastic  standard.  So 
she  adapted  herself  to  what  she  considered  her  own  weak- 
ness, by  preventing  the  commandment  from  being  made 
until  it  was  already  broken :  a  comfortable  arrangement  for 
the  conscience  if  not  for  the  commandment! 

Paul,  for  his  part,  was  immensely  amused  at  the  oppor- 
tunism of  his  wife,  though  he  did  not  always  consider  it 
politic  to  let  that  lady  know  how  much  amused  he  was. 
Matrimony — like  experience — is  a  certificated  teacher. 

But  Isabel  had  reckoned  without  her  host  when  she 
treated  Dr.  Mukharji  as  an  English  gentleman.  He  was 
not  an  English  gentleman,  and  he  did  not  behave  as  such: 
in  spite  of  Isabel's  appeal  to  him,  Fabia's  visits  to  Mount 
Street  continued  with  undiminished  frequency. 

[256] 


OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

Then  at  last  Isabel  saw  no  option  but  to  have  recourse  to 
her  dernier  ressort,  and  to  speak  to  Charlie.  Gossip  was 
making  free  with  the  names  of  Fabia  and  her  cousin;  and 
the  snowball  of  scandal  increased  in  size  with  every  rota- 
tion, as  is  the  way  of  snowballs  and  scandals.  It  had  proved 
useless,  and  worse  than  useless,  to  tackle  the  principal  per- 
formers themselves;  so  there  was  nothing  left  but  to  appeal 
to  Charlie  to  save  Fabia  from  herself. 

But  Isabel  knew  better  than  to  deal  with  him  as  she  had 
dealt  with  the  others.  Charlie  might  not  be  a  genius,  but 
he  was  a  gentleman — quite  as  good  a  thing  in  its  way,  and 
better  for  the  persons  with  whom  he  had  to  do.  There  is  a 
wonderful  free-masonry  among  really  well-bred  people: 
they  know  the  rules  of  the  game :  and  are  as  slow  to  give  or 
take  offence,  as  they  are  quick  to  give  or  take  a  hint.  The 
art  of  taking  a  hint  is  a  fine  art :  the  art  of  taking  offence  a 
debased  one.  Therefore  all  that  Isabel  did  was  to  remark 
airily  one  day  in  the  middle  of  a  conversation  with  Captain 
Gaythorne : 

"  By  the  way,  Charlie,  don't  you  think  that  Fabia  is 
looking  a  bit  pale  and  overdone?  Why  don't  you  take  her 
for  a  run  over  to  Paris  for  Whitsuntide?  The  London  sea- 
son is  a  trying  time  for  unseasoned  Londoners;  and  Fabia 
is  new  to  the  inhalation  of  wood-pavements  as  yet." 

Charlie  knew  in  a  minute  exactly  what  she  meant:  and 
was  grateful  to  her  for  saying  it  and  for  not  saying  it. 
But  all  he  replied  was,  "That's  not  a  bad  idea,  by  Jove, 
not  a  bad  one  at  all !  In  fact,  I  call  it  a  ripping  good  one." 

"  I  should  adopt  it,  then,  if  I  were  you,"  Isabel  continued ; 
"  I'm  sure  it  would  do  Fabia  a  lot  of  good.  And  you 
wouldn't  miss  much,  as  there  is  never  anything  going  on 
in  town  at  Whitsuntide.  I  think  this  is  a  trying  sort  of 

[  257] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

season,  the  hot  weather  began  so  soon  and  so  suddenly: 
April  came  in  like  an  Arctic  sea-lion,  and  went  out  like  a  hot 
roast  lamb.  A  cold  in  the  head  tied  me  by  the  leg,  so  to  speak, 
at  Easter,  and  we  couldn't  get  away  then  at  all;  so  I've  pro- 
posed to  Paul  to  take  me  for  a  good  long  holiday  at  Whit- 
suntide, and  I  should  advise  you  and  Fabia  to  do  the  same." 

"  But  I  thought  that  those  Government  fellows  had  to 
keep  their  noses  to  the  grindstone,  don't  you  know?"  re- 
torted Charlie  as  airily  as  Isabel  herself.  "  So  how  will 
Seaton  be  able  to  get  away  on  the  spree?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  the  grindstone  won't  be  turning  during 
the  Whitsuntide  recess,  so  no  noses  will  be  required:  and 
after  that  I  shall  make  him  find  some  Conservative  nose 
which — like  Charlie's  Aunt — is  '  still  running,'  and  pair  it 
for  another  week  or  so." 

"  I'll  bet  you  five  to  one  that  the  whips  won't  let  him  off 
with  the  present  Government  in  such  a  hole." 

"  Oh!  they  will.    I  know  them." 

"They  won't:  especially  now  that  the  present  Ministry 
is  in  such  a  bad  way  that  it  may  smash  up  at  any  moment." 

Isabel  shook  her  head  with  her  wisest  air.  "  Not  it:  it  is 
feeble  and  effete,  I  admit,  but  it  is  a  chronic  case — not  a 
dangerous  one.  Nurses  always  neglect  chronic  cases  because 
they  are  so  boring  and  tiresome ;  and  members  of  Parliament 
do  the  same." 

Thus  Isabel  conveyed  to  Charlie  that  it  was  his  duty  to 
take  his  wife  out  of  danger  as  soon  as  he  could,  the  only 
possible  refuge  now  being  in  flight:  and  Captain  Gaythorne 
thanked  her  for  her  solution  of  the  difficulty,  and  decided  to 
adopt  it:  and  yet  neither  of  them  had  mentioned  either  the 
nature  of  the  difficulty  or  the  detested  name  of  Ram  Chan- 
dar  Mukharji. 

[258] 


CHAPTER   XIX 

WHAT    HAPPENED    IN    PARIS 

THE  Gaythornes  were  abroad  for  the  best  part  of  a  month, 
and  did  not  come  back  until  the  leafy  month  of  June  was 
decidedly  passe.  Charlie  would  have  liked  to  stay  away 
still  longer,  but  Fabia  was  so  tired  of  the  solitude  a  deux 
that  she  insisted  on  bringing  their  stay  in  Paris  to  a  close,  as 
they  had  seen  but  few  people  whom  she  knew  and  none  who 
amused  her. 

It  was  a  noteworthy  fact,  and  one  which  set  the  tongues 
of  gossip  wagging  faster  than  ever,  that  Dr.  Mukharji  left 
town  when  the  Gaythornes  did,  and  did  not  come  back  to 
his  flat  until  after  their  return :  thus  proving  conclusively  to 
all  the  scandal-mongers  interested  in  the  matter  that  his 
object  in  coming  to  London  was  not  to  tell  fortunes  of 
ladies  in  general,  but  to  have  the  spending  of  Fabia's  in  par- 
ticular— not  to  divulge  the  futures  of  his  numerous  clientele, 
but  to  destroy  that  of  Mrs.  Charles  Gaythorne. 

On  the  evening  of  their  return  Charlie  and  his  wife  were 
dining  in  their  own  house  in  town,  old  Mrs.  Gaythorne  hav- 
ing foregone  a  meeting  for  the  abolition  of  tinned  fruits 
among  the  inhabitants  of  the  Cannibal  Islands,  in  order  to 
sit  at  meat  with  her  son  and  daughter-in-law,  and  welcome 
them  back  to  their  native  shores.  When  dessert  was  on  the 
table  and  the  servants  had  left  the  room,  Fabia  suddenly 

[259] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

interrupted  the  stream  of  unmemorable  conversation  which 
had  flowed  intermittently  during  dinner,  by  saying: 

"  Whom  do  you  think  we  saw  in  Paris,  Mrs.  Gaythorne?  " 

"  Somebody  who  had  better  have  stayed  at  home  in  a 
Protestant  country  than  gone  wandering  off  among  Papists 
and  worse  than  Papists."  Mrs.  Gaythorne  was  very  fond 
of  the  expression  "  Papists  and  worse  than  Papists,"  but  it 
was  a  mere  figure  of  speech;  according  to  the  good  lady's 
ideas,  the  latter  class  of  persons  thus  indicated  were  as  chi- 
merical as  "  the  Anthropophagi,  and  the  men  whose  heads  do 
grow  beneath  their  shoulders." 

"  We  saw  Gabriel  Carr,"  said  Fabia,  quietly. 

The  bomb-shell  took  full  effect.  Mrs.  Gaythorne  fairly 
bounced  in  her  chair.  "  I  cannot  believe  it!  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Surely  you  are  trifling  with  me." 

"No,  I  am  not:  I  only  wish,  for  Janet's  sake,  that  I 
were." 

"Charles,  is  this  true?"  asked  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  turning 
for  confirmation  to  that  son  whom  she  had  never  known 
from  his  childhood  to  tell  a  lie. 

"  Yes,  mother ;  as  true  as  gospel.  As  Fabia  says,  I  wish 
to  goodness  that  it  wasn't,  for  poor  little  Janet's  sake:  but 
it  is,  worse  luck !  " 

"  Describe  the  circumstances,"  was  Mrs.  Gaythorne's  next 
command. 

"  Tell  mother  all  about  it,"  said  Charlie  to  his  wife : 
"  you're  such  a  much  better  hand  at  reeling  off  a  yarn  than 
I  am." 

Fabia  thus  adjured  began :  "  When  we  were  in  Paris  we 
often  went  to  the  theatre,  as  we  found  it  so  very  dull  in  our 
own  sitting-room  at  the  hotel." 

"  Which  you  ought  not  to  have  done,"  her  mother-in-law 

[260] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

interrupted  her :  "  Mr.  Gaythorne  and  I  never  found  it  dull 
wherever  we  were.  I  had  my  committees  as  perennial 
sources  of  interest,  and  he  had  Me."  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  when 
referring  to  herself,  always  emphasised  the  personal  pro- 
noun as  if  the  other  cases  as  well  as  the  nominative  began 
with  a  capital  letter. 

"Of  course:  but  Charlie  and  I  are  different,"  replied 
Fabia  sweetly:  as  indeed  they  were.  "Mr.  Gaythorne 
wisely  allowed  his  wife  to  enjoy  herself  in  her  own  way; 
but  unfortunately  his  son  does  not  follow  his  example." 

"  We  will  leave  Mr.  Gaythorne  for  the  present  and 
return  to  Gabriel  Carr.  Where  did  you  see  him,  and  what 
did  he  say,  and  what  excuse  did  he  give  for  his  extraordinary 
behaviour?"  Mrs.  Gaythorne  practised  to  the  full  the  art 
of  keeping  to  the  point. 

"  Well,"  continued  Fabia,  "  one  night,  when  we  were  in 
a  theatre,  whom  should  we  see  in  a  box  opposite  to  us  but 
Gabriel  Carr?" 

"  At  a  theatre — and  a  French  theatre,  too — and  he  a 
clergyman — in  fact,  my  clergyman!  I  cannot  believe  it! 
You  must  have  been  mistaken." 

"  But  unfortunately  we  were  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said 
Charlie.  "  I  saw  him  as  plainly  as  I  see  you  now.  But  he 
was  aged  a  bit,  I  admit,  as  the  sort  of  life  he  is  leading 
leaves  its  mark  on  a  man,  don't  you  know?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  kind !  Fabia,  proceed  with  your 
narrative." 

"  As  Charlie  says,  he  was  aged,  and  he  had  a  worn  and 
dissipated  look:  but  we  both  recognised  him  in  an  instant. 
And  though  he  looked  older,  he  was  just  as  handsome  as 
ever." 

"  Handsome  is  as  handsome  does;  and  therefore  I  cannot 

[26l] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

call  any  man  handsome  who  deserts  his  wife  on  his  honey- 
moon, and  then  hides  himself  behind  the  scarlet  woman  in 
the  city  of  Babylon,"  remarked  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  not  with- 
out some  reason  on  her  side. 

"He  didn't  behave  handsomely,  I  admit:  but  he  is  a 
jolly  good-looking  fellow  all  the  same,  and  always  will  be," 
said  Charlie,  echoing  both  his  wife  and  his  mother  as  usual. 
"  But  never  mind  his  looks.  Fire  away  with  the  story, 
there's  a  good  girl !  " 

"  The  moment  we  saw  and  recognised  him,  I  told  Charlie 
to  go  round  at  once  and  speak  to  him,  and  find  out  what  had 
happened." 

"  Which  I  did  in  pretty  quick  time,"  supplemented  Cap- 
tain Gaythorne ;  "  as  I  was  afraid  he  would  cut  and  run  as 
soon  as  he  recognised  us,  and  I  wanted  to  collar  him  before 
he'd  got  the  chance." 

"Was  he  alone?"  inquired  Mrs.  Gaythorne. 

Charlie  looked  confused.  "  Well — not  exactly  alone :  I 
mean — I  can't  precisely  say  that  he  was  alone,  don't  you 
know?" 

"  Then  who  was  accompanying  him  ?  " 

Still  Charlie  stammered,  and  Fabia  looked  on  in  silent 
amusement,  and  in  mute  protest  against  the  unsuccessful  old 
custom  of  Bowdlerising  for  the  benefit  of  the  in-laws.  She 
was  sick  of  her  husband's  attempt  to  re-edit  her  for  the 
perusal  of  Mrs.  Gaythorne;  and  she  enjoyed  his  difficult 
and  futile  endeavour  to  perform  a  like  office  on  behalf  of 
Gabriel  Carr. 

"  Well,  mother,  don't  you  see  ? — I  can't  exactly — it 
wasn't  anybody  you'd  know,  don't  you  know  ? — and  it  hasn't 
anything  to  do  with  the  point  of  the  story." 

"  Charles,  do  not  prevaricate.     It  is  a  pernicious  habit, 

[262] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

only  one  step  removed  from  actual  lying.  Tell  me  at  once 
who  was  with  Gabriel  Carr." 

"  It  was — I  don't  exactly  know — and  I  couldn't  exactly 
say,  don't  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  conclude  it  was  a  brother-clergyman  who  had  been 
also  led  away  by  Ritualism  into  Papistry,  and  you  are  try- 
ing to  screen  him  from  me." 

"  Good  heavens,  no !  It  wasn't  anybody  of  that  kind,  I 
can  swear,"  Charlie  hastened  to  asseverate,  while  Fabia 
stifled  a  laugh. 

A  new  idea  replete  with  horror  seized  Mrs.  Gaythorne. 
"  Was  Gabriel  dressed  like  a  monk,  I  should  like  to  know?  " 

"Great  Scott!  no,  mother;  what  questions  you  do  ask! 
He  was  not  even  dressed  as  a  parson." 

Mrs.  Gaythorne  looked  mollified.  "  I  am  relieved  to  hear 
it.  I  was  afraid  the  poor  misguided  young  man  might  have 
been  trapped  into  a  monastery.  But  that  is  enough  subter- 
fuge: it  is  no  use  trying  to  screen  him  from  me.  If  it  was 
not  a  Romish  priest  or  a  monk,  who  was  it?  " 

Fabia  was  enjoying  herself  immensely,  and  she  would 
have  died  sooner  than  respond  to  the  constant  appealing 
glances  which  her  husband  threw  to  her  for  help:  so  she 
held  her  peace  and  let  him  flounder  on. 

"  Well,  you  see,  mother — I  don't  like  to  tell  you  such 
things — and  it  really  isn't  any  business  of  ours — but  it  was 
— it  was — well,  it  was  a  woman,  don't  you  know?  " 

"  A  nun?  You  don't  mean  to  say  he  was  with  a  nun?  " 
almost  shrieked  Mrs.  Gaythorne. 

"Great  Scott,  no!  Far  from  it!"  Charlie  ejaculated, 
while  Fabia,  who  could  not  stifle  her  mirth  any  longer, 
laughed  outright. 

Again    Mrs.   Gaythorne  looked   mollified:   things   after 

[263] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

all  were  not  as  bad  as  they  might  have  been.  "  Then  if  it 
was  not  a  nun — for  which  I  am  devoutly  thankful — what 
sort  of  a  woman  was  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  mother,  it  was — it  was — it  was — well,  not  quite 
a  proper  sort  of  woman,  don't  you  know  ?  " 

Then  at  last  Mrs.  Gaythorne  understood.  "  Oh,  dear, 
dear,  dear!"  she  exclaimed:  "How  very,  very  shocking!" 
But  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  anguish  in  her  voice  was 
less  poignant  than  when  she  had  asked  whether  it  was  a 
monk  or  a  nun.  In  her  eyes  it  was  less  heinous  to  offend 
against  the  Decalogue  than  against  the  Westminster  Con- 
fession. Like  many  another  devout  Christian,  she  was  more 
lenient  towards  actual  sins  than  towards  saintship  which 
took  another  line  from  her  own. 

"  Gabriel  did  not  see  us  as  soon  as  we  saw  him,"  said 
Fabia,  taking  up  the  thread  of  her  narrative  again :  "  so 
Charlie  went  round  to  his  box  and  knocked  at  the  door." 

"  It  was  a  pity  that  I  was  not  there,  as  I  should  have 
gone,  too!  Of  course  you  could  not  go  in  the  circumstances, 
my  dear,  considering  the  sort  of  person  that  Gabriel  had 
with  him:  but  a  woman  of  my  age  can  go  anywhere  and  do 
anything.  Proceed  with  the  narrative." 

"  Charlie  must  tell  now,  as  this  is  his  part  of  the 
story." 

Charlie,  as  was  his  wont,  meekly  obeyed.  "  Well,  when 
I  knocked  at  the  door  Carr  opened  it,  and  didn't  recognise 
me  for  a  second,  as  I'd  got  my  back  to  the  light.  So  I  said, 
'  Hillo,  Carr!  I've  found  you  at  last!  I  think  it's  time  you 
gave  some  account  of  yourself.'  I  didn't  speak  as  strongly 
as  I  felt  by  a  long  shot,  as  I  didn't  want  a  row  in  the  theatre. 
If  I'd  done  as  I  wanted,  I  should  have  knocked  the  fellow 
down  then  and  there!  " 

[264] 


OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

'  Then,  Charles,  I  am  thankful  that  for  once  you  con- 
trolled your  inclinations.  It  would  have  distressed  me  for 
my  son  to  be  involved  in  a  vulgar  brawl — especially  in  such 
a  wicked  place  as  Paris." 

"  Well,  mother,  anyhow  I  did  control  myself,  and  that  is 
what  makes  what  happened  next  all  the  more  rummy.  The 
moment  I  had  spoken — though  I  tell  you  I  was  as  mealy- 
mouthed  as  I  could  induce  myself  to  be  when  speaking  to 
such  a  cad — Carr  turned  as  white  as  a  sheet,  with  such  a 
look  of  sheer  fright  in  his  eyes  as  I've  never  seen  except  on 
the  faces  of  recruits  in  their  first  engagement  before  the  poor 
beggars  had  got  seasoned  to  being  under  fire.  And  then — 
before  you  could  have  said  '  Knife ' — he  dashed  past  me, 
and  ran  for  his  life  down  the  corridor,  and  was  out  of  the 
building  before  I  knew  what  he  was  up  to.  By  Jove,  I 
never  saw  a  fellow  in  such  a  blue  funk  in  my  life  before! 
It  was  a  rummy  go  altogether !  " 

Mrs.  Gaythorne  gasped,  and  then  shook  her  head  reprov- 
ingly. "  Charles,  you  should  have  stopped  him !  You 
should  not  have  allowed  him  to  escape  before  he  had  given 
some  explanation  of  his  extraordinary  conduct  and  sent 
some  sort  of  message  to  Janet." 

"  I  tell  you,  mother,  I  couldn't  help  myself.  The  brute 
was  out  of  sight  before  I  knew  what  he  was  doing." 

"  If  I  had  been  there,  I  should  have  stopped  him." 

"  You  couldn't,  mother,  I  swear !  Besides,  who'd  have 
expected  an  English  gentleman,  whatever  he'd  done,  to  turn 
tail  and  run  away  like  a  frightened  skunk?" 

"There  is  nothing  that  I  do  not  expect  from  misguided 
persons  who  are  in  secret  league  with  the  Jesuits." 

"  Well,  anyhow  I  couldn't  stop  the  beggar,  and  I  didn't." 

"  It  was  a  great  pity  that  I  was  not  with  you !    I  should 

[265] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

have  stopped  him,  and  should  have  insisted  upon  an  expla- 
nation then  and  there." 

"  I  did  ask  the  woman  who  was  with  him  where  I  could 
find  him,"  continued  Charlie;  "but  she  refused  to  tell  me 
anything  about  him.  He'd  evidently  given  her  his  orders 
that  the  word  was  '  Mum  '  as  far  as  he  was  concerned :  but  I 
could  see  that  she  knew  a  precious  sight  more  than  she 
chose  to  tell." 

"  If  I  had  been  there  I  should  have  insisted  upon  her  tell- 
ing," persisted  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  who  for  ever  afterwards 
was  rooted  and  grounded  in  the  belief  that  had  she  been 
present  on  that  memorable  occasion  much  further  sorrow 
and  suffering  would  have  been  avoided.  The  extreme  unlike- 
lihood of  her  presence  in  such  circumstances — considering 
that  nothing  would  induce  her  ever  to  enter  either  a  theatre 
or  a  Roman  Catholic  country — did  not  seem  to  occur  to  her: 
and  in  some  feminine  and  recondite  manner  she  contrived 
to  lay  all  the  blame  of  her  absence  upon  her  son's  devoted 
shoulders. 

"  The  whole  affair  upset  me  most  tremendously,  I  can 
tell  you,"  continued  Charlie.  "  I  always  thought  Carr  such 
a  ripping  fine  fellow — a  really  good  chap  with  no  humbug 
about  him,  but  as  straight  as  they  make  'em — and  then  to 
find  him  turn  out  like  this — well,  it  seems  to  shake  a  fel- 
low's belief  in  everything." 

Tears  came  into  Mrs.  Gaythorne's  eyes  and  began  to 
course  slowly  down  her  weather-beaten  cheeks.  "  That  is 
what  makes  any  sort  of  wrong-doing  on  the  part  of  the 
clergy  so  very  terrible,"  she  said  sorrowfully:  "it  brings 
their  high  calling  into  disrepute,  and  appears  to  give  the  lie 
to  the  truths  which  they  have  preached.  But  it  ought  not 
to  do  so.  However  sadly  His  servants  may  fall  away  from 

[266] 


OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

the  holiness  of  their  first  estate  and  may  do  despite  to  their 
sacred  profession,  the  Master  is  still  the  same,  yesterday, 
to-day  and  for  ever.  With  Him  there  is  no  variableness, 
neither  shadow  of  turning.  Never  forget  that,  my  son." 

Charlie  was  touched,  and  therefore  shy  and  uncomforta- 
ble. "  Of  course  not,  mother,  of  course  not.  I  shouldn't 
think  of  doing  such  a  thing.  Besides,"  he  added  boyishly, 
"  those  of  us  who  have  good  mothers  don't  want  any  parson 
to  teach  us  about  things.  The  parsons  may  fail  us,  but  our 
mothers  won't:  and  we  shan't  go  far  wrong  if  we  take  our 
mothers'  love  as  a  sort  of  sample  of  what  God's  love  is  like, 
and  depend  on  it  just  the  same,  don't  you  know?" 

Fabia  was  interested  and  puzzled.  What  a  strange  and 
wonderful  thing  this  Christian  reltgion  was!  Mrs.  Gay- 
thorne  as  a  rule  was  a  Martha  rather  than  a  Mary,  and 
busied  herself  with  the  practical  side  more  than  the  spiritual 
side  of  religion;  but  just  now  there  was  a  look  in  her  face 
which  must  compel  awe  and  reverence  in  all  who  beheld  it. 
Fabia  had  seen  the  same  look  in  Gabriel  Carr's  face  in 
London  and  at  Vernacre,  though  not  a  trace  of  it  in  the 
Parisian  theatre.  She  called  it  Illumination  and  Inspiration, 
for  want  of  a  better  name:  had  she  been  brought  up  in  the 
same  school  as  Mrs.  Gaythorne,  she  would  have  called  it 
the  Indwelling  of  the  Spirit. 

The  three  Gaythornes  talked  over  with  one  another  the 
problem  of  Gabriel:  and  on  the  following  day  went  and 
talked  it  all  over  again  with  the  Seatons.  But  they  could 
none  of  them  arrive  at  any  satisfactory  conclusion,  or  see 
that  anything  more  could  be  done.  After  the  encounter  at 
the  theatre,  Captain  Gaythorne  had  explored  Paris  for  fur- 
ther traces  of  Gabriel,  but  in  vain:  the  latter  had  evidently 
taken  fright  at  Charlie's  recognition  of  him  and  had  once 
[267] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

again  disappeared.  Searching  for  him  in  Paris  was  like 
looking  in  a  bundle  of  hay  for  a  needle  endowed  with  the 
power  of  evading  pursuit.  So,  as  there  was  nothing  further 
to  be  done,  they  all  agreed  to  do  it. 

Then  Fabia  did  about  the  worst  thing  that  she  had  ever 
done  in  her  life.  It  might  not  be  as  foolish  as  were  her 
repeated  visits  to  the  flat  in  Mount  Street,  but  it  was  more 
evil  in  its  essence,  since  it  was  intended  to  do  harm,  while 
the  visits  to  Mount  Street  were  only  .organised  pour  passer 
le  temps:  and — like  the  worst  things  that  are  done  by  the 
majority  of  us — it  had  its  origin  in  jealousy.  She  went 
down  for  the  day  to  Gaythorne,  and  told  the  full  and  com- 
plete history  of  the  scene  in  Paris  to  Janet  Carr. 

Fabia  was  not  only  jealous  because  Gabriel  had  rejected 
her  and  chosen  Janet,  although — in  spite  of  all  that  had 
happened — she  still  hated  her  on  that  score.  The  cause  of 
the  hatred  might  be  over,  but  the  hatred  itself  remained, 
since  hate,  like  love,  has  a  wonderful  power  of  surviving 
its  instigators.  Her  own  love  for  Gabriel  had  died  a  sudden 
death  on  that  night  in  Paris.  Just  at  first,  when  she  saw 
him  in  the  opposite  box,  the  sight  of  the  man's  physical 
beauty  stirred  the  embers  of  her  love  into  flames  again :  she 
was  always  particularly  sensitive  to  the  influence  of  beauty: 
but  when  she  beheld,  across  the  theatre,  the  pitiable  exhibi- 
tion of  craven  fear  which  the  appearance  of  her  husband 
produced,  her  love  was  turned  into  loathing  and  contempt. 
If  there  was  one  thing  that  she  adored  more  than  beauty  it 
was  strength — strength  as  shown  by  physical  courage,  for 
Fabia  was  too  elemental  a  woman  to  feel  the  fascination  of 
moral  excellencies:  and  as  she  had  first  loved  Gabriel  when 
he  showed  himself  her  master,  so  she  ceased  to  love  him  as 
soon  as  she  believed  him  to  be  in  terror  of  her  husband. 

[268] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

But  Fabia  had  still  further  cause  of  jealousy  of  Janet, 
for — in  spite  of  all  her  sorrow  and  misery — the  supreme  joy 
of  motherhood  was  about  to  crown  poor  Janet's  life,  and  to 
give  her  beauty  for  ashes,  the  oil  of  joy  for  mourning,  and 
the  garment  of  praise  for  the  spirit  of  heaviness.  And  again 
Fabia's  nature  was  too  elemental  for  her  not  to  be  jealous 
of  every  woman  to  whom  had  been  granted  the  happiness 
which  she  had  hitherto  been  denied — the  culminating  happi- 
ness of  motherhood. 

We  shall  all  do  well  to  remember  that  the  unclean  spirit 
which  seeketh  rest  and  findeth  none,  and  so  returneth  to  the 
house  whence  he  came,  taking  with  him  seven  other  spirits 
more  wicked  than  himself,  is  nearly  always  the  spirit  of 
jealousy.  Among  all  the  evil  demons,  there  is  none  so 
clever  as  he  in  paving  the  way  for  his  comrades,  and  in 
opening  doors  for  their  ingress  which  but  for  him  would 
have  remained  closed  to  them  for  ever. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  Fabia  went  down  to  Gaythorne 
on  purpose  to  retail  the  miserable  Parisian  episode  to 
Gabriel's  wife. 

Janet  heard  her  to  the  end,  with  no  sign  of  emotion  save 
a  somewhat  heightened  colour:  then,  when  the  wretched 
story  was  finished,  she  quietly  asked : 

"And  why  have  you  told  me  this,  Mrs.  Gaythorne?  " 

"  Because  I  thought  you  ought  to  know  it,"  Fabia  replied. 
She  had  indeed  managed  to  persuade  herself  that  it  was 
wrong  to  keep  a  person  so  deeply  concerned  in  the  matter  as 
was  Janet  in  the  dark  with  regard  to  the  kind  of  life  which 
her  husband  was  apparently  leading:  and  that  therefore  it 
was  the  duty  of  Janet's  friends  to  enlighten  her  upon  the 
point.  So  specious  are  the  arguments  of  the  spirit  of 
jealousy! 

[269] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

"  Why?  "    Janet  never  wasted  words. 

Fabia  was  somewhat  nonplussed.  "  Oh!  because  you  are 
Mr.  Carr's  wife,  and  therefore  his  conduct  affects  you  more 
than  anybody  else,"  she  lamely  explained. 

"  That  was  rather  a  reason  for  not  telling  me,"  was  the 
quiet  reply. 

Fabia  was  silent  for  a  moment.  She  found  the  calm 
scorn  in  the  hazel  eyes  decidedly  uncomfortable.  Then 
she  said : 

"  I  should  imagine,  now  that  you  know  what  manner  of 
man  your  husband  is,  you  will  leave  off  hoping  or  even 
wishing  for  his  return." 

The  hazel  eyes  flashed  at  last.  "  And  you  expect  me  to 
believe  this  tale  you  have  come  to  tell  me?  " 

"  I  fail  to  see  how  you  can  help  believing  it.  My  hus- 
band is  quite  prepared  to  corroborate  my  statement  that  we 
both  saw  Mr.  Carr  with  our  own  eyes:  and  although  you 
may  not  think  much  of  my  accuracy,  everybody  knows  that 
Captain  Gaythorne  is  a  painfully  truthful  person." 

"  And  given  that  it  is  true,  what  difference  will  that 
make?" 

"What  difference?  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean?" 
Fabia  gasped  with  astonishment:  it  would  have  made  all 
the  difference  in  the  world  to  her  had  she  been  in  Janet's 
place. 

Then  the  pent-up  storm  of  Janet's  wrath  broke.  "  I 
don't  believe  that  what  you  tell  me  is  true — I  can't  believe 
it.  But  even  supposing  that  it  were,  what  is  that  to  me? 
Does  it  make  Gabriel  any  the  less  my  husband?  Wherever 
he  is  and  whatever  he  had  done,  I  am  still  his  wife,  and  he 
is  my  lord  and  master.  Nothing  can  alter  that.  I  belong 
to  him,  body  and  soul,  to  do  with  as  he  pleases.  Whenever 

[270] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

he  comes  back  he  will  find  me  waiting  to  welcome  him  home 
as  if  nothing  had  happened." 

Fabia  was  aghast.  "  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  you," 
she  murmured. 

Janet  laughed  in  her  scorn.  "  You  understand  me — of 
course  you  can't.  You  who  never  loved  anybody  in  the 
world  but  yourself,  how  can  you  understand  the  mysterious 
unity  of  marriage?  Gabriel  and  I  are  indissolubly  one, 
whatever  happens:  nothing  can  put  us  asunder:  and  even 
if  it  is  true  that  he  has  sinned  and  suffered,  then  he  will 
need  me  more  than  he  did  when  he  was  one  of  the  saints  of 
God :  and  he  will  find  me  all  the  more  ready  to  comfort  and 
cherish  him  when  he  comes  to  himself.  Do  you  remember 
the  story  of  S.  Anne,  who — after  her  husband  had  been 
stoned  out  of  the  synagogue — received  him  with  more  love 
and  reverence  than  she  had  ever  shown  him  before?  And 
do  you  think  that  there  are  no  S.  Annes  to-day?  Not  per- 
haps of  your  world,  or  in  your  circle,  but  they  exist  all  the 
same.  Doubtless  you  will  find  plenty  of  people  ready  to  help 
you  in  casting  stones  at  my  husband  when  he  does  come  back ; 
but  from  me,  whom  he  has  most  wronged  if  he  has  wronged 
anybody,  he  shall  never  hear  a  word  of  reproach,  but  only 
words  of  love  and  of  welcome." 

And  Janet,  in  the  dignity  of  her  outraged  love,  flung  back 
her  head  with  such  a  queenly  gesture  that  Fabia  stood  before 
her  cowed,  as  she  had  once  stood  before  Janet's  husband. 
She  said  good-bye  and  got  herself  out  of  the  room  as  best 
she  could,  feeling  for  a  second  time  in  her  life  like  a  beaten 
cur.  And  from  that  moment  she  liked  and  respected  Janet 
Carr:  and  felt  that  she  would  give  the  half  of  all  that  she 
possessed  if  only  she  could  love  anyone  as  Janet  loved 
Gabriel. 

[271  ] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF   ISABEL    CARNABY 

It  is  loving — not  being  loved — that  makes  a  woman  as  a 
king's  daughter  all  glorious  within,  and  clothes  her  spirit  as 
with  wrought  gold.  In  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  they  who 
love  will  always  take  precedence  of  them  who  only  are 
beloved;  for  with  regard  to  spiritual  as  well  as  to  material 
gifts,  it  is  ever  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive. 


[272] 


CHAPTER    XX 

ISABEL'S  TEMPTATION 

ONE  afternoon,  not  long  after  the  return  of  the  Seatons 
from  their  Whitsuntide  holiday,  the  Prime  Minister  called 
upon  Isabel  at  her  house  in  Prince's  Gardens.  She  was  glad 
to  see  him,  with  the  gladness  which  the  sight  of  a  man  who 
has  once  loved  her  almost  always  produces  in  a  woman's 
mind.  There  are  few  people  towards  whom  women  feel 
so  kindly  as  towards  the  man  whom  they  might  have  mar- 
ried, but  did  not:  just  as  there  are  none  whom  they  regard 
with  such  scorn  and  loathing  as  the  man  who  might  have 
married  them,  but  did  not.  Men  dislike  those  to  whom 
they  have  behaved  badly,  even  more  than  they  dislike  those 
who  have  behaved  badly  to  them:  women,  on  the  con- 
trary, prefer  those  whom  they  have  treated  badly,  even  to 
those  who  have  treated  them  well.  "  He  never  pardons  who 
hath  done  the  wrong,"  is  a  true  saying  as  long  as  we  stick 
to  the  pronoun  "  he  " ;  but  substitute  "  she  "  for  "  he,"  and 
the  line  becomes  utter  nonsense.  For  she  who  hath  done  the 
wrong  not  only  pardons — she  commends,  she  praises,  she 
rewards.  There  is  no  kindness  too  extreme  to  be  showered 
upon  the  injured  one — no  favour  too  great  to  be  shown  to 
him.  If  a  man  wishes  a  woman  to  become  really  attached 
to  him,  he  must  not  be  kind  to  her — he  must  allow  her  to 
be  unkind  to  him.  It  is  part  of  the  divinely  feminine  law 
of  compensation. 

Therefore  Mrs.  Seaton — who  had  behaved  abominably  to 

[273] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

the  Prime  Minister  before  he  was  ever  a  Prime  Minister  or 
she  a  Mrs.  Seaton — cherished  a  sincere  and  lasting  affection 
for  Lord  Wrexham:  and  was  always  pleased  to  see — and 
to  be  seen  by — him:  especially  when,  as  on  the  present  occa- 
sion, she  was  conscious  that  she  had  on  a  becoming  gown. 
She  was  too  true  a  woman  to  flirt  after  she  was  married: 
and  she  was  much  too  true  a  woman  not  to  want  to  do  so. 
The  consuming  passion  to  attract,  which  is  so  incomprehen- 
sible to  the  women  who  do  not  feel  it  and  so  irresistible  to 
the  women  who  do,  was  bred  in  the  very  bones  of  Isabel: 
when  she  ceased  to  feel  it  she  wo«id  cease  to  breathe. 

As  for  Lord  Wrexham,  to  him  Isabel  was  the  only  woman 
in  the  world,  and  always  would  be:  but  he  had  loved  her 
far  too  well  to  make  love  to  her  now  that  she  was  another 
man's  wife.  The  bitterest  day  of  his  life  had  been  the  day 
when  she  wrote  Tekel  across  his  name:  nothing  had  ever 
made  up  to  him  for  that.  True,  Fate  had  thrown  into  his 
lot  certain  ingredients  which  are  supposed  to  compensate  for 
a  good  deal  in  the  lives  of  men — notably  the  Premiership: 
but  nothing  had  ever  compensated  him  for  the  loss  of  Isabel, 
and  nothing  ever  would.  He  felt  towards  Fate  as  we  all  feel 
towards  that  mysterious  entity  in  shops,  called  "  Sign,"  who 
comes  forward,  after  we  have  finally  discovered  that  the 
article  we  want  is  not  in  stock,  and  endeavours  to  persuade 
us  that  we  really  did  not  want  that  article  at  all,  but  some- 
thing absolutely  different  of  which  the  shop  is  full.  For 
instance,  if  we  have  asked  in  vain  for  black  astrachan,  he 
begs  to  be  allowed  to  fill  the  aching  void  with  yards  and 
yards  of  pink  calico:  if  we  have  found  our  prayers  for 
knitted  golf-jerseys  ruthlessly  denied,  he  attempts  to  fill  our 
empty  arms  with  silk  umbrellas  at  cost  price.  Fate  had 
treated  poor  Lord  Wrexham  very  much  the  same  as  the  being 

[274] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

called  "  Sign  "  treats  us  all  in  our  season :  he  had  asked  for 
Isabel  Carnaby,  and  Fate  had  given  him  the  Prime-Minister- 
ship — not  by  any  means  the  same  thing:  and  he  felt,  as  we 
all  feel  in  like  circumstances,  both  impatient  and  ungrateful. 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  are  at  home,"  he  began,  "  as  I  have 
something  particular  to  say  to  you.  I  came  late  in  the  hope 
that  I  should  find  you  in  and  alone." 

"  In  that  case  you  should  have  come  early,"  retorted 
Isabel ;  "  as  a  rule,  the  later  the  hour  the  larger  the  meet. 
You  remind  me  of  a  very  worthy  girl  I  once  knew :  she  was 
apologising  to  me  for  being  married  in  Lent,  and  she  said 
that  as  so  many  people  seemed  shocked  at  her  being  married 
in  Lent,  she  had  put  off  her  wedding  until  the  very  last 
week!" 

Wrexham  smiled.  It  always  charmed  him  to  hear  Isabel 
rattle  on  in  her  old  inconsequent  way.  "  Nevertheless, 
events  have  proved  the  wisdom  of  my  course:  I  have  found 
you  in  and  alone." 

"  Because  nothing  happens  except  the  impossible :  and  you 
should  never  expect  anything  but  the  unexpected,  or  foresee 
anything  except  the  unforeseen.  That  is  the  wisdom  of 
life." 

"Then  I  will  follow  wisdom,"  said  Lord  Wrexham: 
"  and  certainly  her  ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness  when  they 
lead  me  here." 

"You  don't  want  to  follow  her,  Wrexham:  she  dwells 
with  you.  It  is  not  often  that  she  avails  herself  of  official 
residences;  but  for  the  time  being  she  has  certainly  taken 
up  her  abode  in  Downing  Street." 

Lord  Wrexham  fell  in  with  Isabel's  mood.  "  I  hope  she 
will  take  up  her  abode  there  again  when  it  is  Mr.  Seaton's 
turn  to  occupy  one  of  the  official  residences."  He  never 
[275] 


spoke  of  Paul  without  the  prefix  "  Mr."  It  was  the  only 
sign  he  made  of  not  having  forgiven  Isabel's  husband  for 
having  married  Isabel.  Also  he  never  addressed  her  by  any 
name  whatsoever;  the  natural  man  kicked  at  having  to  say 
"  Mrs.  Seaton,"  and  the  spiritual  man  hesitated  at  calling 
another  man's  wife  by  her  Christian  name.  In  many  ways 
Lord  Wrexham  was  very  old-fashioned. 

Isabel  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Not  she :  wisdom  won't 
be  dans  cette  galere.  But  /  shall;  and  I  shan't  make  a  bad 
understudy  in  the  enforced  absence  of  the  real  article." 

"  Certainly  you  will  not.  You  are  by  far  the  wisest 
woman  that  I  ever  met,  as  well  as  being  the  most  brilliant." 

Isabel  shook  her  head.  "  No,  I'm  not — not  the  wisest,  I 
mean;  I'll  give  in  to  you  about  the  most  brilliant.  But  I'm 
not  really  wise,  Wrexham ;  that  is  why  I  admire  it  so  much 
in  you.  You'll  find  as  a  rule  that  the  people  we  all  admire 
most  are  the,  people  who  really  are  what  we  ourselves  pre- 
tend to  be." 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  you ;  I  consider  you  extremely  wise  ; 
and  I  think  you  should  use  your  wisdom  for  the  benefit  of 
your  husband  and  his  followers.  I  know  that  you  and  I 
are  one  in  thinking  that  they  are  going  too  fast,  and  that  in 
grasping  too  much  they  will  lose  everything:  and  I  feel 
that  it  is  for  you  to  influence  the  advanced  section  of  the 
party  through  your  influence  with  your  own  husband.  You 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  there  is  nothing  that  Mr.  Seaton 
would  not  do  for  you :  and  I  want  you  to  use  that  power  in 
order  to  save  the  party  from  being  first  disintegrated  and 
then  destroyed."  Lord  Wrexham  was  far  too  just  a  man 
not  to  admit  to  the  full  his  rival's  excellence  as  a  husband 
and  a  politician. 

Again  Isabel  shook  her  head.     "  But  that's  just  what  I 

[276] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

don't  want  to  do.  I  would  give  anything  to  convince  Paul 
that  I  am  right  and  that  he  is  wrong  with  regard  to  the 
present  political  crisis,  which  according  to  you  and  me  isn't 
a  crisis  at  all  and  shouldn't  be  treated  as  such :  but  I  couldn't 
bear  him  to  do  what  he  thought  wrong  and  I  thought  right, 
just  to  please  me.  Which  is  what  he  is  quite  capable  of 
doing." 

Wrexham  looked  puzzled.  As  long  as  a  drag  was  put  on 
the  Liberal  wheel,  he  did  not  see  that  the  inner  machinery 
of  the  drag  used  was  a  matter  of  much  moment. 

"  You  see,"  Isabel  went  on  confidentially,  "  it  is  like 
this :  a  man  will  do  anything  that  a  woman  asks  as  a  favour, 
and  nothing  that  she  advises  as  the  wisest  course.  If  she 
begs  her  husband  to  stand  on  his  head  just  to  please  her, 
he'll  be  found  for  hours  together,  wrong  end  uppermost, 
waving  his  feet  aloft  as  if  he  were  a  pigeon  in  a  pie:  but  if 
she  tries  to  prove  to  him  that  the  head  is  a  safer  mode  of 
locomotion  than  the  feet,  and  that  he  will  be  acting  more 
wisely  if  he  adopts  it  as  such,  that  man  will  stick  to  his 
own  feet  as  long  as  the  world  stands,  and  won't  even  go  to 
the  Antipodes  for  fear  he  should  thereby  seem  to  be  follow- 
ing his  wife's  superior  advice,  and  walking  upside  down. 
Oh !  I  know  them."  And  Isabel  sighed  over  the  weaknesses 
of  the  stronger  sex. 

"  Well,  that  makes  everything  more  easy  for  you,"  said 
the  Prime  Minister,  endeavouring  to  follow  the  thread  of 
her  argument. 

"No,  no,  no,  it  doesn't:  just  the  very  opposite!  That 
way  of  managing  a  husband  is  quite  the  best  way  in  domestic 
politics;  no  home  is  complete  without  it.  But  it  doesn't  do 
in  really  big  things:  it  is  too  great  a  responsibility  for  the 
woman.  Don't  you  understand:  it  is  the  knowledge  that 

[277] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

Paul  will  do  anything  that  I  ask  him  which  often  keeps  me 
from  asking  anything?  Of  course  it  is  excellent  to  have  a 
woman's  strength,  but  it  is  dangerous  to  use  it  like  a 
woman." 

"  I  think  I  begin  to  see  what  you  mean,"  replied  Wrex- 
ham  slowly. 

Isabel  babbled  on:  "I  do  hate  a  bossy  kind  of  wife,  the 
sort  that  makes  her  husband's  mind  up  for  him,  and  then 
sees  that  he  doesn't  change  it.  That  isn't  playing  the  game. 
Now,  I  always  pride  myself  on  never  doing  anything  that 
I  can't  do  really  well:  that  is  why  I  never  play  the  violin 
or  talk  to  young  girls." 

"  I  am  sure  you  could  do  both  extremely  well."  There 
was  not  much  that  Wrexham  did  not  believe  could  be  done 
excellently  by  Mrs.  Paul  Seaton. 

"No,  I  couldn't:  therefore  I  don't  do  them  at  all.  But 
you'd  be  surprised  at  the  things  I've  done  well  in  my  time," 
Isabel  added,  naively. 

"  I  should  not.    That  I  can  swear !  " 

"  Yes,  you  would :  I've  been  surprised  myself,  and  you 
can't  think  better  of  me  than  I  do !  I  remember  once  Mrs. 
Gaythorne  made  me  go  to  a  village  Dorcas-meeting  with 
her,  and  you  should  just  have  seen  the  flannel  petticoat  that 
I  made!  It  was  a  perfect  dream!  " 

"  I  can  well  believe  it!  " 

"  Well,  then,  you  see,  having  laid  down  a  rule  that  I 
would  never  do  anything  unless  I  could  do  it  well,  I  did 
not  marry  without  making  up  my  mind  to  be  one  of  the 
best  wives  that  ever  hopped  through  a  wedding  ring.  And 
the  best  sort  are  not  the  bossy  sort,  and  it's  no  good  pre- 
tending that  they  are!  "  The  moment  Isabel  had  delivered 
herself  of  this  statement  it  occurred  to  her  that  it  was  not 

[278] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

quite  the  happiest  thing  imaginable  to  have  said  to  her 
present  company:  but — being  a  woman  of  the  world — hav- 
ing said  the  wrong  thing,  she  stuck  to  it.  The  crowning 
mistake  of  conversation  is  to  show  that  one  knows  one  has 
made  a  mistake:  just  as  nine  times  out  of  ten  the  greatest 
insult  one  can  offer  is  to  offer  an  apology.  So  she  went 
gaily  on :  "  Therefore,  having  become  a  past  mistress  in  the 
fine  art  of  being  a  good  wife,  I  cannot  debase  my  art  by 
using  it  for  unworthy  purpose.  '  Art  for  art's  sake '  is  ever 
the  motto  of  true  artists,  be  they  artists  in  words  or  in  col- 
ours— paperers  or  painters,  so  to  speak:  and  art  ceases  to  be 
art  when  it  becomes  a  means  and  not  an  end."  Isabel  had 
succeeded  in  covering  her  retreat  neatly. 

"  Yes,  yes,  doubtless  you  are  right :  at  any  rate  I  am  sure 
you  know  best  as  to  how  far  you  are  justified  in  influencing 
your  husband's  political  life.  But  that  is  not  really  what  I 
came  to  say  to  you  this  afternoon:  there  is  something  else." 
"  And  what  is  that  ?  Something  very  interesting,  I 
hope." 

"  It  is  something  which  concerns  yourself,  and  therefore 
is  of  supreme  interest  to  me." 

"  Thank  you,  Wrexham :  you  always  put  things  so  nicely 
that  one  is  apt  to  forget  you  are  a  Prime  Minister." 

"  The  long  and  short  of  the  matter  is  this,"  continued 
Lord  Wrexham,  in  his  slightly  ponderous  manner :  "  on 
account  of  his  health,  Gravesend  has  had  to  resign  the 
Governorship  of  Tasmania,  and  I  want  to  know  if  you 
would  like  me  to  offer  the  post  to  your  husband  ?  " 

Isabel  gasped.  It  is  always  a  little  overpowering  suddenly 
to  find  one's  heart's  desire  within  one's  grasp. 

"That  is  what  I  really  came  to  say  to  you,"  added 
Wrexham. 

[279] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

"  But  why  say  it  to  me  and  not  to  my  husband  ?  "  Isabel 
was  herself  again — that  impertinent  self  which  could  ask 
such  pertinent  questions. 

Wrexham  began  to  explain  in  his  usual  somewhat  labo- 
rious fashion.  "  Because,  owing  to  certain  reasons  which  I 
need  not  enter  into  now,  it  seems  probable  that  the  Liberal 
party  will  continue  in  power;  and,  you  must  understand,  it 
is  not  customary  to  offer  a  Colonial  Governorship  to  a  man 
who  is  sure  of  a  seat  in  the  Cabinet  before  long :  it  looks  too 
much  like  shelving  him." 

"Then  why  shelve  Paul?"  was  the  quick  rejoinder  of 
Paul's  wife. 

"  That  is  just  what  I  am  endeavouring  to  explain  to  you: 
because  I  happen  to  know  that  you  would  very  much  like  this 
appointment;  and  because  it  is  you  who  are  my  friend — not 
Mr.  Seaton.  I  only  feel  an  interest  in  him  because  he  is 
your  husband!  "  (He  meant  that  he  only  felt  a  hatred  for 
Paul  because  Isabel  was  Paul's  wife:  but  that  was  neither 
here  nor  there.)  "  It  is  your  pleasure  and  happiness  that 
concern  me,"  he  went  on:  "not  Mr.  Seaton's." 

"  My  happiness  is  bound  up  with  my  husband's,"  said 
Isabel  haughtily.  The  woman  was  suddenly  merged  in  the 
wife,  and  for  a  moment  she  almost  hated  Wrexham. 

"  Then,  so  far  as  it  is,  Mr.  Seaton's  wishes  are  of  supreme 
importance  to  me,"  replied  Wrexham,  with  unfailing  cour- 
tesy: "And,  if  you  wish  it,  I  will  offer  Mr.  Seaton  this 
appointment  at  once." 

"  No,  no,  no,  wait  a  bit ;  don't  be  in  such  a  hurry :  I  want 
to  think."  Isabel  spoke  impatiently.  She  had  noted  the 
"  Mr."  and  knew  the  social  exclusiveness  which  it  implied : 
and  the  moment  of  hatred  was  prolonged  into  two. 

"  Believe  me,   I  would  not  hurry  you  for  anything.     I 

[280] 


OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

will  leave  you  to  think  the  matter  over,  and  you  can  send 
me  a  line  in  a  day  or  so.  Just  Yes  or  No  will  be  sufficient : 
I  shall  understand,"  said  the  Prime  Minister,  rising  from 
his  seat. 

"  No,  no :  don't  go :  stay  here.  '  I  can  think  it  over  just 
as  well  in  a  few  minutes  as  in  a  few  days — in  fact,  better. 
I  never  make  a  mistake  except  through  caution." 

"Just  as  you  like:  my  time  is  at  your  disposal,"  replied 
Wrexham,  with  his  usual  old-fashioned  politeness:  and 
straightway  buried  himself,  after  the  manner  of  the  Babes 
in  the  Wood,  in  the  "  sweet  green  leaves  "  of  the  West- 
minster Gazette. 

Isabel  got  up  from  her  chair  and  went  to  the  window  at 
the  far  end  of  the  back  drawing-room,  where  she  stood  look- 
ing out  upon  the  gardens  in  the  rear  of  the  house.  It  was 
a  tremendous  temptation,  and  she  recognised  it  as  such.  Not 
only  would  she  herself  have  the  sort  of  life  she  liked  best, 
but — if  she  accepted  Wrexham's  offer — Paul  would  be  saved 
from  making  those  mistakes  which  she  felt  convinced  he 
would  make  as  soon  as  he  became  a  Cabinet  Minister.  The 
country  was  not  ripe  for  the  reforms  proposed  by  Paul  and 
his  section  of  the  party — would  not  be  ripe  for  some  years 
to  come — and  the  Liberal  majority  which,  owing  to  the  turn 
affairs  had  taken,  now  seemed  probable  at  the  next  General 
Election,  would  be  speedily  turned  into  defeat  by  the  oft- 
repeated  Radical  error  of  plucking  the  apple  before  it  was 
ripe.  And  then  where  would  Paul  and  his  followers  be? 
Deeply  buried  under  the  onus  of  having  broken  up  the 
Liberal  party  and  restoring  to  power  the  present  Opposition. 
Just  now  the  Government  majority  was  so  small  that  noth- 
ing vigorous  in  the  shape  of  reform  could  be  contemplated: 
but  when  the  hands  of  the  Radicals  were  strengthened,  as 
[281] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

there  seemed  every  likelihood  that  they  would  be  after  the 
forthcoming  Dissolution,  there  was  no  revolution  too 
immense — no  mistake  too  egregious — for  them  to  attempt 
to  effect.  Thus  Mrs.  Seaton  reasoned :  and  felt  that  it  \vas 
her  duty  as  well  as  her  pleasure  to  accept  the  Prime  Min- 
ister's offer,  and  so  to  save  her  husband  from  himself. 

Of  course  there  was  the  bare  possibility  that  Paul  might 
be  right  and  she  wrong  with  regard  to  what  was  best  for 
the  country:  but  that  possibility  seemed  so  very  remote  that 
she  speedily  dismissed  it  from  the  line  of  argument. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  there  was  Paul  himself,  with  his 
own  hopes  and  desires  and  wishes.  What  right  had  she  to 
frustrate  these  hopes,  even  if  she  believed  them  to  be  delu- 
sive :  what  right  to  disappoint  those  wishes,  even  though  they 
might  be  opposed  to  hers?  There  was  no  doubt  that  his 
political  position  was  strengthening  every  day.  A  year  or 
two  ago  the  possibility  of  his  having  a  place  in  the  Cabinet 
was  frequently  hinted  at:  now  the  possibility  of  a  Liberal 
Cabinet  being  reconstructed  without  him  never  occurred  to 
anybody.  And  even  if  her  foreboding  came  true,  and  his 
reign  was  doomed  to  a  swift  and  suicidal  ending,  he  would 
still  have  been  a  Cabinet  Minister — and  that  is  something 
in  a  man's  life;  in  fact  the  only  thing,  except  herself,  that 
Paul  had  ever  set  his  whole  heart  upon.  And  had  she  any 
right  to  stand  between  him  and  the  realisation  of  his  life's 
ambition — any  right  to  stand  between  him  and  the  fulfil- 
ment of  his  heart's  desire? 

She  knew  that  he  would  at  once  accept  the  Colonial 
appointment  if  it  were  offered  to  him:  she  had  no  doubts 
upon  that  score.  Had  she  not  once  said  that  she  wished  for 
it — and  were  not  her  wishes  always  paramount  with  him? 
She  was  well  aware  that  unselfishness  was  one  of  the  strong- 

[282] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

est  elements  in  her  husband's  character;  and  that  he  carried 
it  to  such  a  pitch  where  she  was  concerned  that  her  happi- 
ness was  really  and  truly  his — that  his  could  not  exist  apart 
from  hers.  But  how  far  was  she  justified  in  taking  advan- 
tage of  this  deep  and  passionate  and  selfless  affection,  even 
if  she  believed  that  she  was  acting  for  his  good  as  well  as 
for  her  own?  The  very  plenitude  of  her  power  made  her 
pause  before  exercising  it. 

All  these  thoughts  raced  through  her  mind  as  she  stood 
looking  out  upon  the  trees  in  the  garden,  and  Lord  Wrex- 
ham  studied  the  pages  of  the  Westminster  Gazette, 

Then  suddenly  there  came  into  her  head  a  conversation 
she  had  once  had  with  poor  Gabriel  Carr  about  the  sanctity 
of  marriage;  and  stray  phrases  from  the  marriage-service 
rang  in  her  ears.  "Wilt  thou  obey  and  serve  him?" — did 
that  mean,  "  Wilt  thou  so  order  his  life  that  he  shall  have 
no  voice  in  the  matter?  "  "  That  this  woman  may  be  lov- 
ing and  amiable,  faithful  and  obedient  " : — did  this  mean, 
"  May  she  have  such  a  strong  will  of  her  own  that  her  hus- 
band, for  the  sake  of  peace,  will  always  give  in  to  her?" 
"  For  the  husband  is  the  head  of  the  wife  " : — did  that  con- 
vey the  idea  that  it  was  hers  to  command  and  his  to  submit; 
hers  to  express  a  wish  and  his  to  carry  it  out?  "  Ye  wives, 
be  in  subjection  to  your  own  husbands": — was  this  an 
apostolic  rendering  of  the  modern  notion  that  it  is  a  woman's 
right  to  take  her  own  way  independently  of  the  man  she  has 
married,  and  to  live  her  own  life  utterly  regardless  of  him? 

And  as  these  thoughts  rapidly  chased  each  other  through 
her  active  brain,  Isabel  knew  for  a  certainty  that  she  would 
reject  Wrexham's  offer.  It  was  the  only  course  open  to 
her,  as  long  as  she  regarded  her  marriage  as  a  sacrament, 
and  her  husband  as  her  lord  and  master  divinely  appointed : 

[283] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

there  was  no  alternative.  "  Subjection  "  might  mean  all 
sorts  of  things;  but  it  could  not  possibly  mean  having  one's 
own  way  at  all  costs  and  in- defiance  of  all  authority:  if  she 
attempted  to  prove  that  it  did,  not  a  dictionary  in  England 
would  support  her.  As  she  herself  had  said,  she  could  make 
up  her  mind  as  well  in  a  few  minutes  as  in  a  few  days:  and 
she  had  made  it  up. 

"  It's  no  good,  Wrexham,"  she  said,  as  she  came  back  into 
the  front  drawing-room :  "  I  can't  accept :  it  was  nice  of  you 
to  think  of  me,  but  the  thing  is  impossible !  " 

"  Just  as  you  please."  Lord  Wrexham's  manner  was  as 
ponderously  polite  as  ever;  it  was  impossible  to  tell  from 
the  expression  of  his  face  whether  he  approved  or  disap- 
proved of  Mrs.  Seaton's  decision. 

"I  can't  put  my  interests  before  Paul's  in  that  way:  it 
would  be  too  horrid  of  me!  " 

"  I  thought  you  said  they  were  identical."  Lord  Wrex- 
ham always  experienced  an  indulgent  pleasure  when  he 
convicted  Isabel  of  inaccuracy. 

Isabel  drew  herself  up :  "I  said  that  our  happiness  was 
identical.  If  you  do  quote,  you  should  always  be  careful  to 
verify  your  quotations — especially  if  you  use  them  to  point 
morals  or  to  adorn  tales." 

Wrexham  took  his  snubbing  quite  meekly:  he  thought 
that  he  had  deserved  it.  But  he  did  not  think  that  Paul 
Seaton  had  deserved  the  happiness  which  was  identical  with 
Isabel's;  and  he  never  would  think  so,  however  long  he 
might  be  Prime  Minister  of  England. 

A  few  nights  after  this,  when  Paul  and  Isabel  were  sitting 
together  after  dinner,  preparatory  to  Paul's  going  back  to 
the  House,  Isabel  said :  "  What's  the  matter,  Paul  ?  You've 
been  so  quiet  all  through  dinner,  that  I  feel  sure  something 

[284] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

must  be  the  matter  with  you :  but  I  didn't  like  to  ask  before 
the  servants  if  it  was  an  ill-digested  foreign  policy  or  merely 
an  ill-digested  meal.  Has  anything  vexed  you  really?" 

"  Well,  darling,  it  has  and  it  hasn't." 

"What  a  statesmanlike  answer!     Go  on." 

"  Well,  my  own,  if  you  want  to  know  the  truth,  it  is 
this.  You  remember  once  saying  to  me  that  you  should  like 
me  to  be  appointed  Governor  of  Tasmania  in  Gravesend's 
place  if  he  resigned,  don't  you?  " 

Isabel  remembered  only  too  well,  and  intimated  as  much, 
as  she  came  and  sat  on  the  arm  of  her  husband's  chair  while 
he  enjoyed  his  post-prandial  cigar. 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  Paul,  "  I  was  wrong  in  imagin- 
ing that  Wrexham  might  offer  it  to  me :  that's  all.  Graves- 
end  has  resigned,  and  Wrexham  has  given  the  place  to  Lord 
Bobby  Thistletown." 

"And  you  are  disappointed?  Oh,  Paul!"  There  was 
positive  anguish  in  Isabel's  voice:  surely  her  great  renuncia- 
tion had  not  been  in  vain  after  all. 

"  Only  on  your  account,  my  sweet.  I  thought  you  wanted 
it."  And  Paul's  arm  stole  lovingly  around  his  wife's  waist. 

"And  didn't  you  want  it  yourself?"  There  was  still 
anxiety  in  Isabel's  blue  eyes. 

"I? — for  myself?  Good  gracious,  no!  But  I  want 
everything  that  you  want,  sweetheart,  as  I  can  only  find  my 
happiness  in  yours.  You  know  that  well  enough." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  have  wanted  it  if  you  hadn't  thought 
I  did  ?  You  are  quite  sure  of  that  ?  "  Isabel  persisted. 

"  Good  heavens,  no !  How  could  I  ?  It  would  have  been 
the  final  shelving  of  me  and  the  end  of  my  political  career. 
But  all  the  same  I  should  have  taken  it  if  Wrexham  had 
given  me  the  chance,  because  I  thought  it  would  please  you." 

[285] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

Isabel  laid  her  cheek  tenderly  against  the  top  of  Paul's 
head.  "  Then  that  would  have  been  very  wrong,  dearest ; 
very  wrong,  indeed!  Your  wishes  ought  to  regulate  our 
lives — not  mine." 

"  Yours  will,  however,  as  long  as  I  am  master  in  my  own 
house.  I  can  tell  you  that." 

"  Well,  they  oughtn't  to." 

"  Well,  they  will." 

"  I  don't  think  that  that  is  the  proper  way  of  bringing  a 
wife  into  subjection  to  her  own  husband." 

Paul  laughed.  "  Subjection  be  hanged!  Your  happiness 
is  my  first  object,  and  always  will  be.  It  makes  me  far  hap- 
pier to  see  you  happy  than  to  be  happy  myself,  if  you  will 
excuse  the  bull.  In  fact,  I  can  only  be  happy  through  you: 
so  that  it  is  really  the  height  of  selfishness  on  my  part  to  do 
the  things  that  give  you  pleasure." 

Isabel  nestled  up  to  him.  "  You  are  quite  the  nicest  hus- 
band that  was  ever  invented,"  she  whispered.  "  It  was  a 
happy  find  of  mine  when  I  chanced  upon  you!  " 

"  Not  so  lucky  as  mine,  by  a  long  way,"  answered  Paul, 
kissing  her.  "  But  about  this  Tasmanian  business?  Are 
you  disappointed,  my  darling?  Because  if  you  are,  I  shall 
never  forgive  Wrexham  as  long  as  I  live  for  not  shelv- 
ing me." 

"  No;  I'm  not  a  bit  disappointed,  Paul.  I've  changed  my 
mind  since  that  time  I  talked  to  you  about  Lord  Gravesend. 
I'd  much  rather  see  you  a  Cabinet  Minister  than  a  Colonial 
Governor." 

"  I'd  much  rather  see  myself  one,  I  can  tell  you  that," 
replied  Paul  with  a  huge  sigh  of  relief.  It  was  such  a 
comfort  to  him  to  find  that  Isabel  had  not  cared  about  that 
Tasmanian  appointment  after  all !  "  But  what  about  your- 

[286] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

self,  my  sweet?  I  thought  you  had  set  your  heart  upon 
being  an  Excellency?" 

"  So  I  had,  but  I've  changed  my  heart — I  mean  my  mind : 
and  now  I'd  far  rather  be  a  Cabinet  Ministering-angel  than 
a  Colonial  Governess,  if  these  are  the  proper  terms  for  the 
wives  for  those  offices." 

"  Well,  I'm  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Paul,  kissing  her 
again:  "exceedingly  glad,  I  can  tell  you!  For  much  as  I 
should  like  to  be  in  the  Cabinet,  it  would  be  no  pleasure  to 
me  if  it  didn't  please  you  as  well." 

"  But  you  really  would  enjoy  it  for  yourself,  wouldn't 
you?" 

"  Rather!  My  only  fear  is  that  I  am  not  a  big  enough 
man  for  the  place." 

"  Oh!  you  are  big  enough  for  that,"  replied  Isabel,  coolly: 
"  you  are  what  I  should  call  '  ordinary  Cabinet  size.'  " 

"  But  it  would  please  you,  too,  wouldn't  it,  my  darling?  " 
Paul  persisted. 

"  It  would ;  it  would  please  me  most  tremendously,"  an- 
swered Isabel.  And  as  she  thrilled  at  the  touch  of  her  hus- 
band's arm  round  her,  she  knew  that  she  was  speaking  the 
truth. 

After  Paul  had  gone  back  to  the  House,  she  went  up  into 
the  drawing-room  and  stood  with  her  elbows  on  the  mantel- 
piece, looking  thoughtfully  down  upon  the  mass  of  flowers 
which  filled  the  unused  fireplace.  "  I  have,  done  the  right 
thing,"  she  said  to  herself:  "there's  no  shadow  of  doubt 
whatever  upon  that  score.  The  poor  darling  would  simply 
have  jumped  at  that  silly  Governorship,  if  Wrexham  had 
offered  it  to  him,  just  to  please  me :  and  it  would  have  spoilt 
the  rest  of  his  life  for  him,  poor  dear.  It  was  my  turn  to 
give  way  this  time — and  never  to  let  him  know  that  I  had 
[  287  ] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

done  so :  it  would  be  all  spoilt  if  he  were  to  find  out  that  I 
had  given  it  up  for  his  sake,  so  he  never  must.  I  really 
think  that  I  am  on  all  fours  with  S.  Peter  as  to  the  meaning 
of  the  word  '  subjection  ' :  this  was  the  sort  of  thing  he  had 
in  his  mind  at  the  time — this  or  its  Roman  and  Jewish  equiv- 
alent. But  nevertheless,"  she  added,  with  a  sigh,  as  she 
glanced  at  herself  in  the  mirror  of  the  overmantel,  "  I  should 
dearly  have  loved  to  be  an  Excellency!  It  is,  after  all,  the 
only  really  graceful  way  of  growing  old." 


[288] 


CHAPTER    XXI 

CAPTAIN   GAYTHORNE'S   HORSEWHIP 

CAPTAIN  GAYTHORNE  was  intensely  unhappy:  there  could 
be  no  two  opinions  as  to  that :  and  his  misery  was  beginning 
to  show  itself  in  his  countenance  and  bearing.  His  ruddy 
complexion  was  fast  losing  its  claim  to  that  epithet;  and  his 
round  face  was  growing  pinched  and  haggard. 

His  mother  did  not  notice  his  depressed  spirits  and 
changed  appearance.  She  was  just  then  so  fully  occupied 
with  a  scheme  for  sending  out  the  "  Sunday  at  Home  "  of 
yesteryear  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  South  Sea  Islands  that 
she  had  no  time  nor  attention  to  spare  for  domestic  and 
family  matters.  Moreover,  Mrs.  Gaythorne  had  a  great  deal 
of  the  masculine  element  in  her  cast  of  mind — notably  that 
power,  usually  the  prerogative  of  the  stronger  sex,  of  steadily 
refusing  to  see  a  thing  at  all  for  a  long  time,  and  then  as 
persistently  declining  to  see  anything  else.  The  natural  and 
normal  man  either  believes  that  his  nearest  and  dearest  are 
as  Behemoth  in  their  strength;  or  else  he  beholds  the  very 
jaws  of  Death  gaping  to  receive  them:  he  knows  no  middle 
course  for  the  treading  of  the  feet  he  loves,  between  the 
path  of  the  young  hart  upon  the  mountains  and  the  Via 
Dolor osa  that  leads  direct  to  the  grave.  And  in  this  respect 
Mrs.  Gaythorne  was  one  with  the  normal  man. 

Fabia  saw  what  was  wrong  with  her  husband;  but  she 
hardened  her  heart  and  did  not  care.  She  was  in  a  chronic 

[289] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

state  of  irritation  against  him ;  and  there  is  nothing  so  hard- 
ening to  the  heart  as  irritability.  To  use  a  horrible  and 
popular  expression  of  the  present  day,  Charlie  "  got  on  her 
nerves";  and  a  woman  who  is  capable  of  allowing  things 
to  "  get  on  her  nerves  "  is  capable  of  anything. 

Our  grandmothers — bless  their  memory! — did  not  allow 
things  to  get  on  their  nerves — either  their  husbands  or  things 
of  less  importance.  They  knew  the  devil  when  they  met 
him ;  and  therefore  did  not  confuse  ill-temper  with  ill-health, 
nor  call  by  the  euphonious  name  of  "  nerves  "  the  ungov- 
erned  passions  of  their  own  sinful  hearts.  It  is  one  of  the 
devil's  latest  and  most  successful  disguises,  that  of  the  irre- 
sponsible and  neurotic  invalid:  the  pose  termed  "neuras- 
thenia "  has  completely  thrown  into  the  shade  his  old 
make-up  of  the  angel  of  light;  as  it  not  only  deceives  the 
victims  of  the  performance,  but  takes  in  equally  the  per- 
formers themselves. 

And  there  was  something — if  not  much — to  be  said  on 
Fabia's  side.  Charlie  simply  adored  his  wife;  but  he  did 
not  take  the  trouble  to  understand  her.  A  not  uncommon 
mistake  among  those  who — like  the  Apostle  Peter — are 
themselves  married  men!  Charlie  had  cut-and-dried  rules 
as  to  what  women  liked  and  what  women  did  not  like; 
and  he  regulated  his  behaviour  towards  each  and  every  mem- 
ber of  the  sex  accordingly.  He  had  a  deeply-rooted  convic- 
tion— implanted  by  his  father  and  cultivated  by  his  mother's 
fostering  care — that  the  more  a  man  permitted  a  woman  to 
trample  upon  him,  the  better  that  woman  was  pleased:  and 
therefore  he  persistently  made  himself  into  a  door-mat  under 
Fabia's  feet  without  pausing  to  consider  whether  this  was 
the  conjugal  attitude  most  likely  to  suit  her  particular 
requirements.  Charlie's  rule  of  conduct  was  to  do  and  to 

[290] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

say  everything  that  he  thought  would  please  his  wife:  so 
far  so  good:  but  he  made  the  initial  mistake  of  omitting  to 
discover  in  the  first  place  exactly  what  would  please  her. 
In  which  error  again  he  did  not  stand  alone.  If  he  had 
worshipped  Fabia  less  and  understood  her  more,  things 
would  have  been  better  for  both  of  them,  and  all  this  misery 
might  have  been  averted.  But  a  firm  conviction  is  hard  to 
uproot — especially  if  it  be  implanted  in  the  mind  of  a  man, 
and  most  especially  if  it  happen  to  be  an  incorrect  one. 
There  is  an  innate  loyalty  in  the  masculine  nature  which 
makes  it  cling  to  wrong  impressions  as  it  would  cling  to  lost 
causes:  it  seems  somehow  rather  shabby  to  throw  them  over 
simply  because  they  happen  to  be  unfounded.  This  trait — 
which  is  not  without  its  excellencies — is  a  survival  of  me- 
diaeval chivalry,  and  accounts  for  much  that  is  otherwise 
difficult  to  understand  in  the  sons  of  men. 

Therefore  if  Charlie  were  miserable,  Fabia  was  miserable 
also:  and — let  conventional  moralists  say  what  they  will — 
there  are  few  things  more  selfish  than  misery.  It  is  the 
happy  people  who  are  the  kind  and  unselfish  people;  and  it 
is  quite  right  that  they  should  be  so.  It  is  not  when  our  own 
pockets  are  empty  that  we  see  to  the  replenishing  of  our 
neighbours':  it  is  not  when  our  own  teeth  are  aching  that 
we  accompany  a  friend  to  the  dentist's.  With  regard  to 
suffering — although  not  with  regard  to  sin — we  have  neither 
the  time  nor  the  inclination  to  remove  the  mote  from  our 
brother's  eye,  until  the  operation  for  the  beam  has  been  suc- 
cessfully performed  upon  our  own. 

Fabia  Gaythorne  was  bored  to  extinction:  the  dulness  of 
her  life  was  well-nigh  killing  her:  and  the  truth  that,  hav- 
ing chosen  her  own  lot,  she  was  in  duty  bound  to  make  the 
best  of  it,  in  no  way  affected  the  fact  that  she  neither  made 

[291  ] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

the  best  of  It  nor  even  attempted  to  do  so.  Life  without  love 
is  far  too  dull  for  the  majority  of  women:  so  as  a  rule — 
with  their  usual  power  of  adaptation — failing  the  real 
article,  they  invent  a  substitute:  which  is  often  as  difficult 
to  distinguish  from  the  real  thing  as  is  Elkington's  Best- 
Electro  from  solid  silver:  the  hall-mark  being  in  cypher  and 
known  only  to  the  gods.  Mortals  are  only  able  to  differen- 
tiate between  the  two  when  the  electro  begins  to  wear  off: 
and  that  rarely  happens  until  it  is  too  late  to  change  the 
plated  goods. 

Of  course  ennui  is  no  excuse  for  wrong-doing:  but  it  is 
often  a  reason  for  it.  It  is  the  idle  hearts,  as  well  as  the 
idle  hands,  that  are  supplied  with  occupation  by  Satan. 

The  one  person  who  saw  Charlie  Gaythorne's  misery  and 
was  made  wretched  by  it  was  Isabel  Seaton.  How  she 
wished  she  had  never  invited  Fabia  to  England  at  all !  And 
how  she  wished  she  had  left  a  few  stones  unturned  in  her 
efforts  to  bring  about  a  match  between  Fabia  and  Captain 
Gaythorne!  If  wishes  were  horses,  Isabel  would  have  had 
a  fine  stud :  but,  as  it  was,  they  were  now  absolutely  useless. 
Charlie  had  married  Fabia,  and  Fabia  was  breaking  his 
heart ;  and — unless  Isabel  were  much  mistaken — Fabia  would 
soon  break  up  his  home  also.  Isabel  was  not  the  sort  of 
woman  to  believe  in  platonic  friendships,  unless  she  hap- 
pened to  have  any  special  reason  for  professing  that  article 
of  faith:  she  was  too  fond  of  admiration:  but  she  knew 
that  if  such  friendships  did  exist,  the  contracting  parties  were 
rarely — if  ever — newly  and  unhappily  married  women  and 
their  recently  rejected  lovers.  Of  course  there  was  the  case 
of  herself  and  Wrexham  to  prove  the  contrary :  but  she  was 
nearly  forty  and  Wrexham  fifty-nine;  while  Ram  Chandar 
was  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  Fabia  only  twenty-three.  Time 

[292] 


OF    ISABEL   CARNABY 

not  only  heals  many  sorrows ;  it  also  obviates  many  dangers. 
Then,  again,  Lord  Wrexham  was  an  Englishman  and  a 
gentleman,  and  Dr.  Mukharji  was  neither  the  one  nor  the 
other,  as  his  treatment  of  Isabel's  appeal  to  him  had  proved : 
moreover,  Isabel  was  passionately  in  love  with  her  own  hus- 
band, while  Fabia  utterly  despised  hers:  therefore  the  inti- 
macy between  Fabia  and  her  cousin  was  not  to  be  classed  in 
the  same  category  as  the  friendship  between  Isabel  and  Lord 
Wrexham;  and  as  Mrs.  Seaton  contemplated  what  the  end 
of  the  mad  folly  on  the  part  of  Fabia  would  probably  be, 
her  heart  was  very  heavy  indeed. 

The  visit  to  Paris  had  done  no  permanent  good.  The 
relief  it  afforded  had  only  been  temporary.  As  soon  as 
Fabia  returned  to  London  her  visits  to  the  rooms  in  Mount 
Street  became  as  constant  and  as  prolonged  as  ever.  In  vain 
her  husband  besought  her  to  go  back  with  him  to  Gaythorne ; 
in  vain  he  suggested  another  trip  abroad.  Fabia  was  as 
immovable  in  her  decision  to  remain  in  London  as  she  had 
been  in  her  decision  to  return  to  it  from  Paris. 

Charlie  felt  that  he  could  not  speak  to  her  about  what  was 
filling  his  thoughts :  nothing  would  induce  him  to  do  such  a 
thing.  His  chivalrous  nature  revolted  at  the  bare  idea  of 
suggesting  to  his  wife  that  her  relations  with  another  man 
were  too  intimate:  all  that  he  could  do  was  to  have  it  out 
with  the  other  man  himself.  Therefore  the  only  course 
open  to  him  was  to  go  direct  to  Dr.  Mukharji's  rooms  and 
tell  the  popular  charlatan  what  he  thought  of  him.  And 
the  instrument  which  appeared  most  to  lend  itself  to  the 
appropriate  and  adequate  expression  of  this  opinion  was  a 
good  old  English  horsewhip. 

There  were  many  reasons  why  the  horsewhipping  of  Dr. 
Mukharji  appealed  strongly  to  the  taste  of  Captain  Gay- 

[293] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

thorne.  In  the  first  place,  Charlie  hated  the  Hindoo  because 
the  latter  had  once  wanted  to  marry  Fabia:  and  no  man 
really  likes  the  other  men  who  have  wished  to  marry  his 
wife.  In  the  second  place,  Charlie  was  far  too  normal  and 
healthy-minded  an  Englishman  to  entertain  anything  but 
disgust  and  contempt  for  any  juggling  with  the  supernatural: 
he  disapproved  of  everything  of  the  nature  of  occultism, 
spiritualism,  or  prying  into  the  future,  classing  them  all 
together  in  his  own  pellucid  mind  under  the  generic  term  of 
"rot."  And,  thirdly,  Charlie  loathed  Dr.  Mukharji,  be- 
cause he  held  the  latter  entirely  responsible  for  the  present 
state  of  affairs.  Fabia  was  young  and  inexperienced ;  but — 
as  he  argued,  and  argued  with  some  reason — Mukharji  (or, 
as  he  called  him,  "  that  confounded  nigger  ")  was  old  enough 
to  understand  the  irreparable  mischief  he  was  causing  by 
allowing  scandal  to  associate  his  name  with  that  of  his  beau- 
tiful cousin.  Thus  Charlie  hated  Ram  Chandar  with  a 
three-fold  cord  of  hate,  and  decided  to  deal  with  his  enemy 
as  it  pleased  him. 

Fabia  and  her  husband  were  sitting  together  at  breakfast 
one  morning,  close  upon  the  end  of  the  season.  It  was 
always  Fabia's  habit  to  rise  early:  she  had  learnt  it  in 
India:  and  the  English  custom  of  getting  up  late  never 
appealed  to  her.  Neither  did  she  enjoy  having  her  break- 
fast in  her  own  room,  with  nobody  to  talk  to  save  her  old 
ayah,  Saidie,  who  now  fulfilled  the  part  of  maid  to  her.  She 
liked  life  and  society;  she  hated  solitude  and  dulness:  and 
although  she  found  Charlie  dull  enough,  still  even  he  was 
better  than  the  ayah,  who  never  did  anything  but  echo  all 
that  her  mistress  chose  to  say.  Charlie  did  not  do  very  much 
more,  it  must  be  confessed:  but  Mrs.  Gaythorne  did — that 
dear  woman  never  erred  on  the  side  of  being  too  subservient 

[294] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

to  anybody.  On  this  particular  day,  however,  the  cries  of 
the  South  Sea  Islanders  for  disused  "  Sunday  at  Homes  " 
had  apparently  become  so  importunate  that  Mrs.  Gaythorne 
had  risen  while  it  was  yet  night  to  attend  a  breakfast-meet- 
ing which  had  been  organised  in  order  to  satisfy  the  spiritual 
hunger  of  the  heathen  abroad  and  the  more  physical  necessi- 
ties of  their  Committee  at  home. 

"  How  are  you  going  to  amuse  yourself  today,  my  pet?  " 
Charlie  asked.  He  felt  a  horrible  suspicion  that  his  wife 
was  going  to  see  her  cousin,  but  hoped  against  hope  that 
she  was  not. 

Fabia  sighed  wearily.  "  How  am  I  going  to  amuse 
myself?  Not  at  all.  I  may  try  various  means  for  the  secur- 
ing of  that  end,  but  it  is  a  foregone  conclusion  that  they  will 
none  of  them  prove  successful." 

Charlie's  kindly  face  at  once  assumed  an  expression  of 
sympathy.  He  pitied  Fabia  profoundly  for  having  married 
a  fool,  but  he  did  not  see  how  the  evil  was  to  be  cured. 
"  Poor  old  girl !  I  wish  to  goodness  that  I  could  hit  upon 
something  to  amuse  you." 

"  I  wish  to  goodness — or  even  to  badness — that  you 
could!" 

"  You  don't  seem  to  feel  any  interest  in  the  sort  of  things 
that  I  talk  about."  Poor  Charlie's  voice  was  very  wistful. 

Fabia  raised  her  delicately-pencilled  eyebrows.  "  Does 
anybody?  " 

It  was  extremely  rude  of  her,  but  Charlie  was  very 
patient:  too  patient  for  the  type  of  woman  with  whom  he 
had  to  deal.  "  I  wish  I  could  talk  about  things  that  you 
are  interested  in,  Fabia,  dear." 

"I  wish  that  you  could:  it  would  make  a  considerable 
difference  to  me." 

[295] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

"But  other  people  can.  I'm  not  the  only  person  in  the 
world." 

"  Fortunately  not." 

Even  then  the  worm  did  not  turn.  "  Now,  there's  Isabel 
Seaton,  don't  you  know?  A  rattling  good  sort  of  woman! 
Surely  she  is  interesting  enough  for  anybody:  I  never  knew 
such  a  woman  in  my  life  for  talking  about  thoughts  and 
feelings  and  rot  of  that  kind,  and  all  the  sorts  of  things  that 
women  go  on  about  for  hours  and  hours  together.  You 
ought  to  like  talking  to  her,  old  girl !  " 

"  When  she  talks  rot?    Thank  you." 

The  gentle  Charles  hastened  to  eat  his  words.  "  By 
Jove !  I  didn't  mean  that.  When  I  say  '  rot '  I  don't  mean 
*  rot ' :  I  only  mean  that  women  like  talking  about  a  lot 
of  highfalutin'  and  sentiment,  that  men — poor  brutes! — 
are  much  too  great  asses  to  understand.  And  if  you're  on 
the  highfalutin',  sentimental  wyarpath,  Mrs.  Paul  Seaton's 
your  man." 

"  Still  it  is  possible  that  an  undiluted  and  age-long  tete-a- 
tete  with  Isabel  might  pall  in  time — especially  upon  another 
woman." 

"  Perhaps  it  might :  though  hardly  upon  another  man,  if 
that  man  happened  to  be  Seaton.  I  never  saw  a  beggar  so 
cracked  on  his  wife  in  my  life:  and  after  being  married  all 
this  time,  too !  He  isn't  like  a  husband ;  he's  more  like  a 
fellow  that  only  meets  his  best  girl  once  in  a  way,  and  has 
to  make  the  most  of  it.  He  never  looks  at  anybody  else 
when  she's  in  the  room,  and  he  is  always  straining  his  ears 
to  hear  what  she  is  saying."  And  Charlie  laughed  aloud 
at  the  memory  of  Paul's  infatuation.  There  is  always  so 
much  more  humour  in  a  thing  done  by  someone  else  than  in 
the  very  same  thing  done  by  ourselves.  Our  mere  perform- 

[296] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

ance  of  an  act  at  once  robs  that  act  of  humour  and  clothes 
it  with  dignity — in  our  own  eyes. 

"  I  thought  you  approved  of  that  sort  of  thing,"  said 
Fabia,  coldly.  "  You  once  told  me  that  your  father  laid 
great  stress  upon  the  sanctity  of  marriage." 

"  So  he  did,  by  Jove,  so  he  did!  He  was  a  tremendous 
stickler  for  it.  I  should  think  he  did  lay  stress  on  it !  Just 
a  few — rather!  " 

"  Then  why  laugh  at  Mr.  Seaton  for  practising  what  the 
late  Mr.  Gaythorne  preached  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  laughing  at  him !  I  admire  the  fellow  for  it 
most  tremendously,  I  can  tell  you!  But  somehow  it  seems 
a  bit  rummy  for  an  old  fellow  of  that  age  to  be  so  deuced 
spoony,  don't  you  know?  Why,  if  he's  a  day,  he  must  be 
forty:  and  though  the  fair  Isabel  is  a  duck,  she's  no  chicken!" 
And  Charlie  laughed  again,  in  the  insolence  of  youth,  at  his 
own  wit  and  the  Seatons'  folly. 

Fabia  smiled  too.  It  struck  her  as  so  distinctly  comic 
for  her  husband  to  be  laughing  at  the  Seatons  and  good- 
humouredly  tolerating  them.  "  Then  I  gather  that  your 
late  father  would  have  commended  the  admirable  Seaton." 

"  Great  Scott,  yes:  just  a  little!  I  commend  him  myself. 
He's  not  a  bad  sort,  good  old  Paul !  But  as  for  my  father, 
you  should  just  have  heard  him  on  the  subject  of  how  hus- 
bands ought  to  obey  and  reverence  their  wives.  And  so  they 
ought.  They're  told  to  in  the  Bible,  or  something  on  the 
same  lines,  don't  you  know?  I'm  a  poor  hand  at  quotations, 
but  I  fancy  that's  the  idea." 

"  It  is  a  good  thing  that  Mrs.  Gaythorne  is  not  present, 
or  she  would  make  you  look  it  up  in  the  Commentary  after 
breakfast." 

"  By  Jove,  so  she  would !    The  dear  old  mater  never  can 

[297] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

bear  me  to  be  shaky  about  the  hang  of  a  text:  she  likes  it 
all  cut  and  dried,  and  committed  to  memory.  I  remember 
once,  when  I  was  a  little  chap,  there  was  a  harvest-thanks- 
giving at  a  Methodist  chapel — the  place  where  she  went  to 
when  old  Cattley  made  such  an  ass  of  himself  over  that 
Psalm  business — and  what  should  catch  her  eye  the  minute 
she  got  up  from  that  face-in-the-hat  affair  at  the  beginning 
but  a  cross  worked  on  the  beam-end  of  the  pulpit  in  white 
chrysanthemums,  or  Michaelmas-daisies,  or  some  other 
flower  of  that  persuasion,  don't  you  know?" 

Fabia  knew  only  too  well — so  well  that  she  felt  it  would 
asphyxiate  her  to  know  it  any  better:  so  she  rose  from  the 
finished  meal  and  the  unfinished  story,  and  left  the  room, 
saying  as  she  went,  "  You'd  better  put  '  To  be  continued,' 
and  finish  the  tale  some  other  time.  Serial  publication  is  the 
only  form  possible  for  stories  of  such  length  as  that  one." 

Charlie  sat  quite  still  after  she  had  gone:  for  a  few  min- 
utes he  was  too  completely  crushed  to  move.  Then  other 
thoughts  roused  him.  "  I  wonder  if  she's  off  to  that 
d — d  scoundrel !  "  he  said  to  himself.  "  I  expect  he's  come 
round  her  with  his  devilish  hypnotism  or  some  vile  humbug 
of  that  sort,  and  the  poor  girl  can't  resist  him.  By  Jove, 
if  I  was  sure  of  that,  I'd  blow  his  brains  out!  "  Then  a 
sudden  idea  struck  him.  "Great  Scott!  I'll  go  straight  to 
the  brute's  place  now  and  see  what  the  skunk  is  up  to;  and 
if  I  find  Fabia  there !  "  Anyone  who  had  seen  Char- 
lie's face  then  would  hardly  have  recognised  the  usually 
good-tempered  Captain  Gaythorne. 

It  was  not  long  before  Charlie  put  his  threat  into  execu- 
tion, and  jumped  into  a  hansom,  taking  with  him  a  brand- 
new  riding-whip  which  he  had  only  bought  a  few  days  ago. 
But  quick  as  he  had  been,  somebody  else  had  been  quicker; 

[298] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

he  dismissed  his  cab  at  the  end  of  Mount  Street  and  walked 
the  rest  of  the  way.  Another  hansom  overtook  him:  but  as 
it  was  going  the  same  way  as  he  was,  he  did  not  see  the  occu- 
pant until  it  pulled  up  a  few  paces  in  front  of  him  at  the  door 
of  the  house  in  which  were  Dr.  Mukharji's  rooms:  and  out 
of  that  hansom  stepped  Fabia. 

This  was  enough,  but  it  was  not  all. 

She  did  not  stop  to  ring  the  bell:  she  was  too  much  at 
home  for  that:  she  opened  the  door  by  means  of  a  latchkey 
and  went  straight  in,  shutting  the  front-door  behind  her,  and 
leaving  her  husband — whom  she  had  not  seen — standing 
stupefied  on  the  pavement. 

Then  Charlie  saw  red. 

His  wife  to  possess  the  latchkey  of  another  man's  house 
so  that  she  could  go  in  and  out  undetected !  The  mere  idea 
of  such  a  thing  was  insufferable,  and  drove  him  to  absolute 
frenzy!  It  proved  an  intimacy  between  Fabia  and  the  occu- 
pant of  that  house  far  greater  than  Charlie  had  ever  insulted 
his  wife  by  supposing  possible.  If  she  had  a  latchkey  to  her 
cousin's  rooms! —  Well,  the  scandalmongers  were  not  so 
far  out,  after  all ! 

Charlie  was  obliged  to  walk  a  little  way  up  the  street 
and  back  again  in  order  to  steady  himself.  He  knew  that  if 
he  rushed  straight  into  Dr.  Mukharji's  presence  he  should 
kill  the  man  then  and  there;  and  for  Fabia's  sake  he  did  not 
wish  that  murder  should  be  done.  But  after  a  turn  or  two 
in  the  open  air  his  frenzy  of  rage  subsided  sufficiently  to 
allow  him  to  present  himself,  as  any  ordinary  English  gentle- 
man, at  the  fortune-teller's  door,  and  to  ask  in  a  fairly  nat- 
ural voice  if  he  could  see  Dr.  Mukharji.  He  duly  sent  in 
his  card,  so  that  there  might  be  no  mistake:  but  he  took  care 
to  follow  closely  upon  it,  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  being 

[299] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

denied  admittance:  he  also  kept  his  whip  in  his  hand,  so  that 
there  might  be  no  mistake  about  that  either. 

His  first  impression  on  seeing  his  enemy  was  surprise  at 
the  strong  family  likeness  between  the  occultist  and  Fabia: 
Mukharji  looked  more  like  her  father  or  elder  brother  than 
her  distant  cousin:  and  his  second  was  still  greater  surprise 
that  a  man  as  old  as  Ram  Chandar  should  obtain  so  great 
an  influence  over  a  handsome  young  woman  such  as  Fabia. 
Youth  is  always  sceptical  as  to  middle-age's  powrer  to  charm. 
It  struck  Charlie  as  rather  a  joke  that  a  man  of  forty  should 
be  able  to  fascinate  his  own  wife :  but  that  a  man  apparently 
of  about  forty-five  should  be  able  to  fascinate  Charlie's  wife 
was  considerably  more  than  a  joke — was  altogether  an  inex- 
plicable mystery,  and  a  thing  to  be  neither  understood  nor 
endured. 

While  these  thoughts  raced  through  Charlie's  brain,  the 
Oriental  came  slowly  forward  with  outstretched  hand  and  a 
scornful  smile  which  was  the  very  counterpart  of  Fabia's. 
"How  do  you  do,  Captain  Gaythorne?"  he  said,  in  his 
low,  Eastern  voice,  which  was  as  soft  as  a  woman's :  "  allow 
me  to  welcome  my  cousin's  husband  to  my  humble  lodging." 

But  Charlie  put  his  right  hand  behind  his  back,  to  where 
the  left  one  was  gently  fingering  the  horsewhip.  "  I  haven't 
come  here  for  any  infernal  palaver,"  he  replied,  and  his  face 
looked  as  nobody  had  seen  it  look  except  his  comrades  in 
action :  "  I've  come  to  tell  you  that  I  won't  stand  any  more 
of  your  d — d  nonsense.  There's  been  about  enough  of  it 
as  it  is." 

The  Oriental  paused  a  moment  in  admiration  before  he 
answered.  How  splendid  these  English  people  were  when 
they  were  angry!  When  he  saw  the  look  on  Charlie's  face 
he  understood  why  the  English,  wherever  they  go,  are 

[300] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

the  dominant  race.  Then  he  began  suavely:  "Surely 
Fabia " 

But  he  was  promptly  cut  short  by  the  infuriated  young 
giant  before  him.  "  Mrs.  Gaythorne's  name  does  not  enter 
into  this  present  conversation:  please  remember  that." 

''  Then  may  I  inquire  to  what  I  owe  the  honour  of  this 
visit  ?  "  The  fortune-teller  tried  to  keep  up  his  scornful 
smile,  but  he  was  trembling  all  over.  He  had  never  in  all 
his  life  seen  a  man  look  at  him  as  Charlie  was  looking.  He 
understood  now  why  the  native  tribes  were  in  awe  of  Cap- 
tain Gaythorne:  he  was  in  awe  of  the  man  himself. 

"  I  can  soon  tell  you  that.  I've  come  to  pay  my  little 
account  of  what  I  owe  you  for  your  infernal  hypnotism 
and  treachery  and  general  damnableness.  That's  what  I've 
come  for;  and,  if  you  please,  I'll  settle  my  little  bill  at  once." 
And  with  that  Charlie  showed  him  his  horsewhip  and  looked 
like  business :  his  rage  was  breaking  through  its  leash  again. 

The  other  shook  from  head  to  foot  with  sheer  fear. 
Charlie  saw  his  enemy's  terror  and  it  infuriated  him  still 
further.  What  a  coward  the  hound  was !  "  Surely  you  are 
not  going  to  beat  me  with  that  thing,"  pleaded  the  trembling 
occultist. 

Charlie  laughed  a  grim  laugh  that  was  not  altogether 
pleasant  to  hear.  "  But  I  am,  though.  I'm  going  to  thrash 
you  within  an  inch  of  your  life  for  bringing  your  confounded 
fortune-telling  and  hypnotism  and  all  the  rest  of  your 
infernal  rot  into  decent  English  houses,  and  among  decent 
Englishmen's  wives:  and  then  I'm  going  to  pitch  your  mis- 
erable little  body  out  of  the  window.  That's  what  I'm  going 
to  do,  and  the  sooner  it's  done  the  better!  I've  no  pity  for 
d — d  scoundrels  such  as  you !  " 

And  as  the  memory  of  how  this  man  had  come  between 


THE   SUBJECTION   OF   ISABEL    CARNABY 

himself  and  Fabia  rushed  on  Charlie,  it  maddened  him  so 
that  he  lost  all  self-control,  and  seized  his  enemy  by  the 
throat,  meaning  to  shake  him  as  a  dog  might  have  shaken  a 
rat.  But  before  he  had  time  to  fulfil  his  intention,  or  to 
bring  the  raised  horsewhip  down  upon  the  trembling  form 
that  was  struggling  in  his  iron  grasp,  the  slender  figure  col- 
lapsed altogether  and  fell  in  a  heap  upon  the  floor,  leaving 
in  Charlie's  hands  a  tangled  mass  of  false  black  hair  and 
beard:  and  Charlie  saw  lying  at  his  feet  no  grovelling 
Indian  juggler,  but  the  unconscious  form  of  his  wife,  Fabia 
Gaythorne. 


[302] 


CHAPTER    XXII 

THE     EFFECT     OF     THE     HORSEWHIP 

DUMBFOUNDERED  with  amazement  and  hardly  knowing 
what  he  did,  Charlie  shouted  for  help ;  and  the  veiled  attend- 
ant came  rushing  into  the  room  with  her  veil  thrown  back, 
thereby  disclosing  herself  to  be  none  other  than  Fabia's  old 
ayah,  Saidie. 

"  See  to  your  mistress  at  once,"  commanded  Charlie.  "  I 
believe  I've  killed  her."  And  the  big  man  trembled  now  as 
his  wife  had  trembled  a  few  minutes  before. 

"  The  Memsahib  is  not  dead :  she  is  only  fainting,"  re- 
plied the  ayah,  unfastening  her  mistress's  robe  and  pouring 
something  between  the  white  lips. 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  groaned  the  distracted  man,  kneeling 
at  her  side. 

"  Quite  sure,  Sahib.  See,  even  now  the  colour  returns  to 
Memsahib's  lips,  and  she  begins  to  recover  consciousness." 

"  Then  I  must  go,"  said  Charlie,  rising  to  his  feet. 
"  After  what  I've  done  I  am  not  fit  that  she  should  ever  look 
at  me  again.  But  first  tell  me,  where  is  the  real  Dr. 
Mukharji?" 

"  There  is  no  real  Dr.  Mukharji,  Sahib.  It  has  always 
been  a  play  of  Memsahib's." 

"  No  real  Dr.  Mukharji?  "  Charlie  could  not  believe  his 
ears. 

[303] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

"  No,  Sahib.  There  is  Ram  Chandar  Mukharji  out  in 
India,  but  he  has  never  been  in  England  at  all.  It  has  been 
a  play  of  the  Memsahib's  because  she  found  the  English  life 
so  dull." 

Charlie  put  his  hand  to  his  head  as  if  he  were  dazed. 
"  And  I've  knocked  her  down  for  nothing.  It  has  all  been 
my  own  infernal  folly.  What  a  confounded  fool  of  an  ass 
I've  been!" 

The  ayah  tried  to  comfort  him.  Like  the  rest  of  his 
servants,  she  adored  Captain  Gaythorne.  "  See,  the  Mem- 
sahib  is  not  really  hurt.  She  is  opening  her  eyes." 

"  Then  I  must  be  off."  And  before  the  dark  eyes  had 
time  to  unclose  themselves  he  was  out  of  the  room  and  out 
of  the  house. 

At  first  he  did  not  know  where  to  go.  He  fairly  reeled 
with  misery.  He  had  assaulted  his  own  wife — had  ill- 
treated  her  so  that  he  had  reduced  her  to  unconsciousness; 
and  he  felt  that  the  shame  of  this  would  kill  him.  He  was 
a  branded  man — he  had  disgraced  himself  and  his  manhood 
• — and  he  felt  he  would  never  lift  up  his  head  again.  That 
he  had  attacked  Fabia  in  ignorance  was  not  of  much  comfort 
to  him,  for  it  was  his  own  unfounded  suspicion  of  her  that 
had  brought  him  to  this  pass.  If  he  had  never  doubted  her, 
this  terrible  thing  would  not  have  happened.  The  hideous 
fact  remained:  he  had  knocked  down  a  woman,  and  that 
woman  his  own  wife — the  woman  whom  he  had  sworn  to 
love  and  to  cherish:  and  nothing  else  mattered.  He  had 
done  the  one  thing  which  he  could  never  forgive  any  man 
for  doing,  and  he  could  never  forgive  himself.  He  was  a 
blackguard,  and  a  coward,  and  he  deserved  to  be  drummed 
out  of  his  regiment:  there  was  no  palliation  of  such  an 
offence  as  his — no  excuse  for  such  dastardly  conduct. 

[304] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

Such  were  poor  Charlie's  meditations. 

He  never  attempted  to  make  any  excuse  for  himself: 
excuses  were  not  in  Charlie's  way.  He  had  done  a  shameful 
thing,  and  he  must  abide  by  the  consequences:  that  was  the 
beginning  and  the  end  of  it. 

Of  course  he  should  never  see  Fabia  again :  she  would  not 
— nor  would  any  woman  in  like  circumstances — be  able  to 
endure  the  sight  of  such  a  brute  as  he  had  proved  himself 
to  be.  No:  she  and  his  mother  must  continue  to  reign  at 
Gaythorne,  and  he  must  go  away  and  hide  himself  as  best 
he  could.  There  was  no  place  in  decent  society  for  such 
as  he! 

He  did  not  know  where  to  go — what  to  do:  and  half- 
unconsciously  his  steps  led  him  across  to  Prince's  Gardens. 
People  in  trouble  instinctively  turned  to  Isabel :  her  common 
sense  and  cheerful  disposition  made  her  a  veritable  tower  of 
strength  to  storm-tossed  souls:  and  Charlie  felt  that  if  any- 
one could  help  him  in  this  terrible  strait  it  was  Isabel 
Seaton.  Naturally  he  clung  to  his  mother  for  comfort :  but 
even  the  filial  Charlie  could  not  but  see  that  Isabel  was  far 
more  of  a  woman  of  the  world  than  was  Mrs.  Gaythorne, 
and  therefore  more  competent  to  advise  him  what  to  do  in  a 
matter  of  this  kind.  And  therein  he  was  right. 

So  he  went  straight  to  Isabel  and  fortunately  found  her 
at  home ;  and  he  told  her  the  whole  story,  extenuating  noth- 
ing with  regard  to  his  own  conduct,  nor  setting  down  aught 
in  malice  with  regard  to  Fabia's.  Isabel  was  one  of  the 
rare  women  who  cannot  only  talk  cleverly,  but  can  also 
listen  cleverly;  and  therefore  she  heard  Charlie's  tale  to 
the  end  in  silence,  her  expressive  face  alive  with  sympathy. 
One  of  her  many  gifts  was  that  she  could  always  put  herself 
in  another's  place  and  see  a  thing  from  another  person's  point 

[305] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

of  view :  it  is  an  attribute  never  lacking  in  dramatic  tempera- 
ments, and  an  attribute  which  perhaps  more  than  any  other 
enables  its  possessor  to  attain  to  that  universal  comprehen- 
sion which  involves  universal  pardon.  Therefore  she  under- 
stood both  Charlie's  and  Fabia's  position  in  the  present  crisis, 
and  sympathised  with  both  accordingly. 

When  Charlie  had  finished  his  recital  Isabel  did  not  say 
much:  she  knew  he  had  come  to  talk  to  her  and  not  to  listen : 
and  he  then  confided  to  her  his  intention  to  banish  himself 
from  his  beloved  home  for  ever  and  to  leave  his  insulted  and 
outraged  wife  to  reign  there  undisturbed  in  his  stead.  It 
was  his  old  mistake:  he  set  himself  to  do  the  thing  that 
would  best  please  his  wife,  without  first  setting  about  to 
discover  what  that  thing  was. 

But  Isabel  did  not  fall  into  this  error:  she  was  consider- 
ably older  than  Charlie,  and  a  woman  at  that :  and  she  made 
up  her  mind  that  Fabia  herself  should  have  a  voice  in  pro- 
nouncing sentence  upon  her  husband. 

"  The  only  bright  spot  in  the  whole  ghastly  concern  is  that 
it  is  I  who  have  come  a  cropper,  and  not  Fabia.  I'd  a 
million  times  sooner  know  myself  for  the  confounded  cad 
I  am  than  that  there  should  be  a  shadow  of  reproach  against 
her.  She  is  all  right,  bless  her !  as  I  might  have  known  from 
the  beginning,  if  I  hadn't  let  my  infernal  jealousy  make  such 
a  besotted  ass  of  me.  But  I  was  a  suspicious  fool,  not  fit 
to  black  her  boots,  and  I  deserve  all  the  misery  that  I  shall 
get."  And  poor  Charlie  looked  out  of  the  window  so  that 
— as  he  imagined — Isabel  should  not  see  the  tears  that  stood 
in  his  honest  blue  eyes. 

Isabel  remembered  Browning's  lines — 

"Would  it  were  I   had  been  false — not  you; 
1  that  am  nothing,  not  you  that  are  all!" 

[306] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

And  she  felt  that  the  man  in  the  poem  would  agree  with 
Captain  Gaythorne  that  in  this  case  the  worst  had  not 
happened. 

Isabel's  voice  was  very  gentle  as  she  said :  "  Poor  boy ! 
Things  have  gone  crooked,  haven't  they?  Now  what  can 
I  do  to  set  them  straight  again  ?  "  She  knew  perf ectly  well 
what  she  was  going  to  do:  but  she  thought  it  much  better 
that  the  suggestion  should  come  from  Charlie  himself.  Wise 
women  rarely  make  valuable  suggestions:  they  guide  men 
into  making  them,  and  then  they  carry  them  out.  It  is  the 
surest — in  fact  the  only — way  of  avoiding  masculine  opposi- 
tion. If  they  are  very  wise  women  indeed,  they  begin  with 
a  slight  demur:  this  not  only  ensures  the  carrying  out  of  the 
suggestion  on  the  part  of  the  man  concerned — it  ensures  it 
being  carried  out  with  enthusiasm. 

"  That's  just  what  I'm  coming  to,"  replied  Charlie.  But 
he  did  not  come  at  once :  it  took  him  all  his  time  just  then 
to  avoid  what  Wolsey  would  have  called  "  playing  the 
woman,"  but  what  Charlie  himself  would  have  described 
as  "  making  a  blooming  ass  of  himself." 

The  wily  Isabel  thought  aloud.  "  I  wonder  how  Fabia 
is  now." 

"That's  what  I'm  coming  to,"  repeated  Charlie:  and 
this  time  he  came.  "  I  want  you  to  be  so  awfully  good  as 
to  take  a  hansom  at  once  and  run  round  and  just  see  how 
she  is,  and  how  badly  the  poor  darling  is  knocked  about.  I 
should  be  so  tremendously  grateful  if  you  would!  And 
then  you  can  just  tell  her  that  she  need  never  see  me  again, 
for  I'm  not  fit  for  it."  And  once  again  the  big  tears  hung 
on  Charlie's  golden  eyelashes. 

"  Of  course,  my  dear  Charlie,  she'll  be  very  angry  at  first: 
you  can't  wonder  at  that:  but  I  don't  believe  she  will  prove 

[307] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

as  implacable  as  you  seem  to  imagine.  She'll  get  over  it. 
You  see  you  didn't  mean  to  knock  her  down." 

"  But  I  did  it.  I  can't  get  over  that,  and  she  won't 
either."  Simple  natures  look  always  at  results;  complex 
natures  at  motives.  Therefore  Charlie's  point  of  view  was 
diametrically  opposed  to  Isabel's. 

"  Well,  all  I  know  is  that  if  Paul  knocked  me  down, 
imagining  all  the  time  that  I  was  someone  else  who  wanted 
knocking  down  badly,  I  should  get  over  it." 

"  Because  you  are  fond  of  Seaton ;  and  Fabia  has  never 
been  fond  of  me.  It  makes  all  the  difference,  don't  you  see, 
whether  you  are  fond  of  a  fellow  or  not?  There's  nothing 
that  a  woman  won't  forgive  if  she  is:  and  precious  little 
that  she  will  if  she  isn't." 

Isabel's  heart  overflowed  with  pity  for  the  big  man 
looking  out  of  the  -window.  He  seemed  such  a  boy  after 
all,  and  such  an  unhappy  boy. 

"  Well,  Charlie,"  she  said  cheerfully,  getting  up  from 
her  chair,  "  ring  the  bell  and  tell  Perkins  to  whistle  me  a 
hansom,  while  I  go  and  put  on  my  hat;  and  I'll  run  round 
to  Fabia  at  once  and  see  how  she  is.  And  mind — if  I  do 
this  for  you — you  must  promise  me  in  return  to  stay  here 
till  I  come  back."  There  was  a  despairing  look  on  the  boy- 
ish face  that  made  Isabel  afraid  the  poor  fellow  might  do 
something  desperate. 

"  I  promise,"  he  said  simply.  And  she  knew  that  he  was 
incapable  of  breaking  his  word.  "  But  tell  her,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  that  if  after  what  has  happened  she'd  rather  I  was 
dead,  I'll  go  abroad  and  shoot  myself  where  it  would  never 
be  spotted  or  found  out.  She's  but  to  give  the  word.  See  ?  " 

"  I  see:  and  I'll  give  your  message." 

As  soon  as  Isabel  had  gone  and  there  was  no  need  to  keep 

[308] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

up  any  longer,  Charlie  sat  down  on  the  sofa  and  sobbed  like 
a  child.  He  cried  as  he  had  not  cried  since  his  father's 
death;  for  there  seemed  the  same  upheaval  of  all  known 
laws — the  same  awful  transition  of  the  ordinary  and  familiar 
things  of  life  into  some  dread  and  horrible  nightmare — now 
as  then.  And  now  as  then  poor  Charlie  felt  that  he  should 
never  be  happy  again. 

Fabia  meanwhile  was  undergoing  a  new  and  strange 
experience. 

She  was  not  long  in  recovering  from  the  shock  of  Char- 
lie's assault  upon  her,  as  he  had  not  had  time  really  to  hurt 
her  before  she  fell  unconscious  at  his  feet,  and  in  so  doing 
revealed  her  identity;  but  although  she  was  physically  none 
the  worse  for  this  unparalleled  incident,  she  was  mentally 
completely  changed  thereby. 

As  she  gradually  grasped  what  had  happened,  and  re- 
enacted  the  scene  in  her  own  mind  again  and  again,  her 
feelings  for  her  husband  underwent  a  total  revolution.  When 
she  saw  him  towering  above  her  in  his  righteous  indignation, 
and  literally  trembled  at  his  wrath,  she  realised  for  the  first 
time  that  this  man  was  her  master:  she  understood  at  last 
that  what  she  had  mistaken  for  the  cowardice  of  a  weak 
man  was  in  reality  the  patience  of  a  strong  one — that  what 
she  had  despised  as  a  sign  of  vacillating  feebleness,  was 
really  the  outcome  of  infinite  self-control.  Her  husband 
had  not  endured  and  condoned  her  insolence  and  ill-temper 
because  he  had  not  the  power  to  control  her:  but  because  he 
had  the  power  to  control  himself. 

As  with  her  usual  quickness  Fabia  comprehended  how 
totally  she  had  misunderstood  and  misinterpreted  Charlie's 
dealings  with  her,  her  emotional  as  well  as  her  mental  atti- 
tude towards  him  changed.  She  had  scorned  the  man  whom 

[309] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

she  believed  to  be  her  slave:  but  her  spirit  humbled  itself  in 
the  dust  before  him  whom  she  recognised  as  her  master.  As 
she  had  fallen  in  love  with  Gabriel  when  he  showed  himself 
morally  stronger  than  she,  so  now  she  fell  in  love  with 
Charlie  because  he  had  shown  himself  physically  stronger 
than  she:  and  she  fell  in  love  all  the  more  deeply  this  time, 
because  she  was  one  of  those  to  whom  the  material  world 
is  ever  more  present  than  the  spiritual.  And  Charlie  had 
not  only  shown  himself  her  superior  as  regards  mere  brute 
force :  there  had  been  a  look  in  his  eye  when  he  imagined  that 
he  was  dealing  direct  with  Dr.  Mukharji  before  which  a 
braver  man  than  Ram  Chandar  would  have  quailed :  much 
less  a  highly  strung  woman  such  as  Fabia. 

Herein  she  showed  her  oriental  blood  and  training.  An 
English  woman  would  have  resented  the  outrage  to  her 
feminine  dignity,  even  if  she  did  homage  to  the  virile 
strength  which  prompted  it:  but  Fabia  belonged  to  a  race 
whose  women  had  long  lived  in  slavery,  hugging  their 
chains:  and  when  she  recognised  her  lord  and  master  she 
fell  at  his  feet  and  owned  his  authority,  loving  him  all  the 
more  in  that  he  had  used  her  roughly  and  treated  her  with 
contempt.  As  long  as  her  husband  placed  the  sceptre  in  her 
hands,  she  merely  belaboured  him  with  it:  but  as  soon  as  he 
took  his  rightful  place  and  invested  himself  with  the  insignia 
of  his  own  sovereignty,  there  was  no  more  humble  and 
devoted  subject  to  be  found  in  the  whole  realm  of  matrimony 
than  she. 

Her  soul  had  long  ago  been  crying  out  for  its  master,  and 
had  only  so  far  found  its  mate:  now  that  at  last  it  had  dis- 
covered its  master,  it  was  ready  to  fold  its  tired  wings  in  the 
shelter  of  his  strong  arms,  and  there  to  make  its  permanent 
resting-place. 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

When  Isabel  arrived  at  the  rooms  in  Mount  Street  the 
ayah  ushered  her  at  once  into  Fabia's  presence.  The  latter 
was  lying  on  a  sofa  looking  rather  pale  and  shaken,  but  other- 
wise none  the  worse  for  what  had  happened.  For  a  second 
or  two  Isabel  stood  looking  at  her :  and  then  simultaneously 
the  two  women  burst  out  laughing. 

"  It  was  a  magnificent  hoax,  Fabia !  "  cried  Isabel  as  soon 
as  she  could  speak :  "  Simply  magnificent!  I  wouldn't  have 
believed  that  any  woman  could  have  taken  in  half  London 
so  completely!  " 

"  I  think  it  was  cleverly  done." 

"  Clever?  It  was  marvellous!  And  do  you  mean  to  say 
that  Ram  Chandar  never  came  to  England  at  all?" 

"  Never.  I  wanted  him  to  do  so,  but  he  refused.  And 
then  I  thought  what  fun  it  would  be  to  personate  him  and 
perform  some  of  the  tricks  which  he  had  taught  me.  And 
it  was  fun !  Glorious  fun !  " 

"I  can  believe  it!  It  must  have  been  simply  killing  to 
hear  all  those  women's  secrets  and  give  them  advice.  I 
should  have  adored  doing  it !  " 

"  I  did." 

"  But  what  made  you  begin  in  the  first  instance?  "  Isabel 
asked. 

"  Dulness — dulness  pure  and  simple.  I  was  so  bored  that 
I  felt  I  must  do  something  to  amuse  myself  or  else  I  should 
go  mad  and  this  seemed  a  fairly  harmless  and  yet  absorbing 
pastime." 

"  It  was  brilliantly  contrived  and  carried  out." 

"  It  was  quite  simple.  Saidie  took  the  rooms  for  me,  and 
I  dressed  up  in  native  dress  and  a  false  black  wig  and  beard. 
You  see  I  have  sole  control  of  all  my  own  fortune :  Charlie 
always  refuses  to  touch  a  penny  of  it,  or  to  know  how  I 


THE   SUBJECTION 

•  spend  it:  and  with  plenty  of  money  at  one's  command, 
everything  is  easy." 

The  mention  of  Charlie  recalled  to  Isabel  the  purport  of 
her  errand.  "  That  reminds  me  I  have  come  to  you  with  a 
message  from  Charlie.  He  is  simply  wild  with  anxiety  to 
know  how  much  you  are  hurt." 

"  He  need  not  be.  There  are  some  bruises  on  my  throat, 
but  that  is  all.  I  am  quite  right  again  now;  the  faintness 
soon  passed  off." 

"  Fabia,  I  have  come  to  plead  with  you  for  him.  He  is 
so  mad  with  horror  at  having  knocked  you  down  that  he 
proposes  never  to  see  you  again:  he  thinks  he  isn't  fit:  and 
he  is  full  of  a  wild  scheme  of  disappearing  altogether, 
and  leaving  Gaythorne  to  you  and  his  mother.  He  even 
says  he  will  go  quietly  away  and  shoot  himself  if  you'd 
rather  he  was  dead.  But,  oh  Fabia !  won't  you  forgive 
him?  He  did  not  know  what  he  was  doing,  and  he  is  so 
broken-hearted  about  it."  And  there  were  tears  in  Isabel's 
eyes. 

Fabia  looked  puzzled :  "  Forgive  him  ?  What  have  I  to 
forgive  ?  " 

"  Forgive  him  for  having  knocked  you  down  and  hurt 
you,"  Isabel  explained.  "  And,  after  all,  as  I  said  to  him, 
he  didn't  know  it  was  you." 

"  What  if  he  had  known  ?    I  am  his  wife." 

It  was  now  Isabel's  turn  to  look  puzzled.  "  I  don't  see 
what  that  has  to  do  with  it." 

"Don't  you?  To  me  it  seems  to  have  everything  to  do 
with  it.  Surely  a  man  has  the  right  to  do  what  he  will  with 
his  own." 

Isabel  gasped.  To  her  Western  ideas  this  was  flat  heresy 
indeed:  but  Fabia,  the  daughter  of  a  long  line  of  Eastern 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

women,  saw  the  matter  in  a  different  light.  It  was  one  of 
her  inherited  instincts — instincts  which  had  come  down  to 
her  through  the  purdah  and  the  harem — that  a  husband  is 
a  lord  and  master,  and  a  wife  a  chattel  and  a  slave:  and 
instinct  is  ever  stronger  than  reason,  especially  in  elemental 
natures.  "  Then  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  don't  resent 
his  having  treated  you  like  that?  Oh,  Fabia!  " 

"  Resent  it?  No;  a  thousand  times  no!  And  more  than 
that,"  added  Fabia,  sitting  up  in  her  eagerness,  a  soft  light 
coming  into  her  beautiful  eyes,  "  it  has  changed  my  whole 
life;  for  it  has  made  me  fall  in  love  with  Charlie — fall  in 
love  with  my  own  husband !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Isabel  was  so  interested  that  she 
could  hardly  speak. 

"  I  mean  that  at  last  I  see  what  a  fool  I  have  been,  and 
that  there  isn't — and  never  was — any  other  man  in  the 
world  but  Charlie!  Isabel,  don't  you  understand?  I  used 
to  despise  him  because  he  was  so  meek  and  so  gentle,  and 
always  let  me  have  my  own  way  and  be  as  rude  to  him  as 
I  liked:  and  I  believed  it  was  because  he  was  weak  and 
feeble  and  not  a  real  man.  But  I  was  a  blind  fool !  "  The 
usually  deliberate  Fabia  was  now  so  excited  that  she  could 
not  get  out  her  words  fast  enough:  they  tumbled  one  over 
the  other.  "  But  when  he  thought  I  was  a  man,  and  a  man 
that  he  hated,  he  treated  me  as  he  treats  other  men,  and  I 
recognise  him  for  the  man  he  is.  Oh,  you  should  have  seen 
him  when  he  said  he  was  going  to  thrash  me ;  he  looked  like 
a  Greek  god !  " 

"I  never  heard  such  a  thing  in  my  life!"  Isabel  was 
well-nigh  speechless.  This  oriental  attitude  of  mind  was  a 
thing  as  yet  undreamed  of  in  her  philosophy. 

Fabia  went  on :  "  When  I  saw  him  look  like  that,  I  loved 

[313] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

him — loved  him  with  all  my  heart  and  soul  and  strength. 
And  when  he  took  hold  of  me,  and  I  felt  like  a  reed  in  his 
grasp,  I  simply  worshipped  him.  I  thought  he  was  going 
to  kill  me,  and  that  made  me  adore  him  all  the  more.  I 
shouldn't  have  cared  if  he  had :  it  would  have  been  a  splendid 
death  to  be  killed  by  his  hand !  " 

Isabel  continued  to  gasp  with  sheer  amazement:  this  new 
Fabia  was  a  revelation  to  her.  Mrs.  Seaton  was  Occidental 
to  her  finger  tips:  and  the  idea  of  being  slain  by  Paul's  hand 
did  not  offer  the  slightest  attraction  to  her. 

"  Now  I  know  what  he  looks  like  in  a  battle,"  continued 
Fabia;  "now  I  know  why  his  men  are  afraid  of  him!  He 
is  a  splendid  hero,  and  I  have  been  treating  him  as  if  he 
were  a  stupid  child.  What  a  fool — what  an  arrant  fool — 
I  have  been !  " 

By  this  time  it  occurred  to  Isabel  that  it  might  be  well 
for  the  hero  to  learn  the  surprising  results  of  his  prowess. 
She  judged — and  judged  rightly — that  he  would  be  if  possi- 
ble more  astonished,  and  certainly  more  delighted,  than  she 
herself. 

"  Fabia,  I'm  going  to  fetch  him,"  she  cried,  springing  to 
her  feet. 

Fabia  caught  her  dress.  "  No,  no :  he  will  never  forgive 
me.  I'm  not  fit  that  he  should  ever  speak  to  me  again  after 
the  way  I  have  treated  him.  Why,  I  used  to  jeer  at  him 
and  flout  him,  and  all  the  while  I  was  not  fit  to  black  his 
boots!" 

Isabel  burst  out  laughing.  It  was  very  funny  to  hear 
Fabia  speaking  of  Charlie  in  so  much  the  same  terms  as  he 
had  spoken  of  her.  "  Well,  as  you  say  you  aren't  fit  to  black 
his  boots,  and  as  he  has  just  told  me  that  he  isn't  fit  to 
black  yours,  I  should  advise  you  both  to  go  in  for  brown 


OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

boots  in  the  future,  if  you  want  them  well  cleaned !  "  And 
then  she  hurried  back  to  the  waiting  Charlie. 

He  started  up  as  she  came  into  the  room.  "  How  is  she? 
What  did  she  say?  Can  she  ever  forgive  me?  "  His  ques- 
tions followed  each  other  in  rapid  succession,  never  waiting 
for  an  answer. 

"  It's  all  right,"  replied  Isabel,  as  if  she  were  speaking  to 
an  unhappy  child.  "  There's  nothing  to  worry  about." 

"She  isn't  badly  hurt?" 

"  She  isn't  hurt  at  all.  And,  oh !  Charlie,  the  most  killing 
thing  has  happened.  She  has  fallen  in  love  with  you !  " 

Charlie  looked  dazed.  "  Fallen  in  love  with  me  after  I've 
been  such  a  brute  to  her?  What  in  heaven's  name  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  exactly  what  I  say."  And  then  Isabel  told  him, 
as  briefly  as  she  could,  of  the  unexpected  turn  that  things 
had  taken. 

As  she  had  anticipated,  he  was  as  much  astonished  as  she 
had  been;  in  fact  this  good  news — following  so  closely  on 
his  recent  despair — was  almost  too  much  for  him.  But  he 
quickly  pulled  himself  together  like  the  man  he  was. 

"  By  Jove!  this  beats  cockfighting !  "  was  all  that  he  could 
say  at  first:  and  he  said  it  several  times.  Then,  as  the 
effects  of  the  shock  gradually  subsided,  he  announced  his 
intention  I  of  going  with  all  possible  speed  to  his  newly- 
reconciled  wife. 

"  Go  at  once,"  replied  Isabel,  who  was  nothing  if  not 
practical :  "  I  kept  my  hansom,  as  I  knew  you'd  want  one 
in  a  hurry." 

"Mrs.  Seaton,  you're  a  brick!"  cried  Charlie,  grasping 
her  hand  till  the  rings  cut  into  her  fingers,  and  almost  made 
her  scream. 


THE    SUBJECTION 

"  But  look  here,  Charlie,"  she  added,  laying  her  uninjured 
hand  upon  his  arm,  "  don't  go  and  make  the  old  mistake 
over  again.  You  have  won  Fabia's  love  by  showing  her 
that  you  are  her  master;  now  don't  go  and  throw  it  away 
again  by  behaving  like  her  slave !  " 

"But  I  can't  behave  like  a  brute  to  the  poor  darling!  " 

"  Yes,  you  can :  like  a  nice  brute.  The  long  and  short  of 
it  is,  Charlie,  that  you've  been  much  too  meek:  women 
don't  like  meekness — especially  Eastern  women:  they  spell 
it  with  a  '  w '  and  despise  it.  Remember  the  husband  is  the 
head  of  the  wife,  and  must  behave  himself  accordingly." 

"  Is  he?  "     Charlie  looked  doubtful. 

"  So  the  Bible  tells  us." 

"  Does  it,  by  Jove  ?  Well,  there's  no  getting  round  the 
Bible,  is  there?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  I've  always  had  a  sort  of  notion  that  it  was  the  other 
way  on — that  the  wife  was  the  head  of  the  husband  and  all 
that  kind  of  thing,  don't  you  know?  But  I  suppose  I  was 
up  a  wrong  street." 

"You  were:  an  absolutely  wrong  one,"  replied  Isabel 
firmly.  But  considering  that  his  own  mother  had  been  the 
living  epistle  known  and  read  of  Charlie,  she  felt  that  she 
could  not  altogether  blame  him  for  this  misinterpretation  of 
revealed  truth. 

"  Well,  I'll  try  and  get  the  right  hang  of  the  thing  this 
time,"  cried  Charlie,  as  he  escaped  from  Isabel  and  jumped 
into  the  cab. 

Both  he  and  Fabia  were  sorely  exercised  as  to  what  they 
should  first  say  to  each  other :  they  composed  reams  of  pretty 
confessions  which  never  saw  the  light.  But  when  the 
moment  came  they  said  nothing  at  all,  but  just  flew  into 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

each  other's  arms,  and  blotted  out  all  their  past  misunder- 
standings and  misery  with  kisses.  As  a  patent  past-eraser 
there  is  nothing  equal  to  a  kiss:  it  will  remove  every  stain, 
and  make  things  generally  as  good  as  new.  Some  people 
endeavour  to  erase  things  by  means  of  explanations:  but 
these  are  not  a  success:  they  nearly  always  leave  a  larger 
mark  than  the  original  one,  as  benzene  often  does.  But 
kisses  rarely  if  ever  fail:  they  clear  away  everything,  pro- 
vided, of  course,  that  the  genuine  article  is  used,  and  not  a 
counterfeit.  And  the  genuine  article  comes  straight  from 
the  heart. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

A    SECOND    GABRIEL 

JUST  at  first  Charlie  was  tempted  to  fall  into  his  old  mis- 
take of  making  himself  into  a  door-mat  for  Fabia  to  walk 
upon,  and  thus  once  more  upsetting  the  apple-cart  which 
had  so  recently  regained  its  equilibrium:  but,  supported  by 
Isabel's  constant  encouragement,  he  nobly  struggled  against 
the  old  man  that  was  in  him,  and  bravely  endeavoured  to 
put  on  the  new  man  of  whom  he  himself  so  heartily  disap- 
proved. And  his  efforts  were  amply  rewarded  by  his  wife's 
increasing  devotion  to  him.  As  she  said  one  day  to  Isabel, 
"  When  he  looks  particularly  adoring,  with  that  old  dog- 
like  expression  of  abject  devotion,  I  just  shut  my  eyes,  and 
see  his  face  as  it  appeared  that  day  in  Mount  Street:  and 
then  I  worship  him  more  than  ever." 

She  kept  the  riding-whip  as  a  sacred  treasure,  and  fondled 
it  at  intervals:  the  humour  of  which  arrangement  strongly 
appealed  to  Mrs.  Sea  ton. 

"  I  think  it  is  perfectly  fascinating  of  you  to  cherish  a 
horsewhip  as  a  relic,"  she  remarked :  "  it  is  so  much  more 
original  than  flowers  and  letters  and  ordinary  rubbishy 
things  of  that  kind.  I've  got  hidden  away  somewhere — 
goodness  knows  where! — a  spray  of  roses  and  maiden-hair 
that  Paul  once  gave  me  before  we  were  engaged:  and  now 
the  roses  look  like  scraps  of  worn-out  boot-leather,  and  the 

[318] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

fern  like  dried  essence  of  mint-sauce.  But  a  relic  like  a 
horsewhip  never  grows  old !  It  will  be  as  fresh  a  hundred 
years  hence  as  it  is  today — and  as  full  of  meaning." 

Fabia  laughed.     "  Yes :  the  meaning  is  fairly  obvious." 

"  That's  one  of  the  beauties  of  it.  Flowers  want  such  a 
lot  of  letter-press  to  explain  their  special  fragrance.  Ben 
Jonson  had  to  write  a  whole  song  to  expound  to  the  uniniti- 
ated that  his  rosy  wreath  smelt  '  not  of  itself  but  thee ' :  and 
my  aforesaid  rosy  wreath  smells  neither  of  myself  nor  of 
Paul,  but  of  decayed  vegetation.  But  a  horsewhip  requires 
no  explanation:  it  smells  of  leather  and  speaks  for  itself: 
and  he  who  runs  may  read,  as  may  also  he  who  runs  away." 

"  You  would  not  have  liked  a  whip  as  a  relic,  Isabel :  you 
know  you  would  not.  It  would  be  to  you  a  symbol  of  all 
that  you  most  disliked  in  your  husband." 

Isabel  sighed.  "  Perhaps  not;  but  I  wish  I'd  something 
more  interesting  to  treasure  up  than  dried  herbage:  and  I 
don't  even  know  where  that  is!  It  is  so  fearfully  common- 
place to  express  love  by  means  of  roses,  and  so  original  to 
express  it  by  means  of  a  horsewhip !  " 

"  Not  so  original  among  the  lower  classes,  I  fancy." 

"  Perhaps  not.  But  the  whole  heart  of  the  great  middle- 
class  offers  itself  to  its  respective  young  women  by  the  token 
of  roses  and  maiden-hair:  and  it  is  the  love  of  the  great 
middle-class  that  is  so  respectable  and  so  dull !  " 

"  But,  my  dear  Isabel,  I  thought  that  you  prided  yourself 
upon  belonging  to  the  great  middle-class;  and  upon  being 
absolutely  normal  and  commonplace."  There  was  a  mis- 
chievous gleam  in  Fabia's  eyes  as  she  spoke. 

"  Oh!  I  forgot:  so  I  do.  I'm  glad  you  remind  me  of  it. 
To  tell  the  truth  it  is  one  of  my  favourite  poses."  It  was 
one  of  Isabel's  many  virtues  that  she  was  always  ready  to 


THE   SUBJECTION 

laugh  at  herself.  "  Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I'm  very 
pleased  that  the  romance  of  my  life  is  embalmed  in  the 
absolutely  ordinary  and  normal  form  of  a  spray  of  roses 
and  maiden-hair:  and  I  shall  set  about  finding  it  at  once, 
and  treasuring  it  accordingly;  though  I  can't  for  the  life 
of  me  remember  where  I've  put  it." 

Fabia  was  right:  the  submission  which  was  delightful  to 
her  was  difficult  to  Isabel.  The  Eastern  nature  loved  to 
submit:  the  Western  nature  found  it  hard  to  do  so.  Yet 
both  did  it  in  the  spirit,  if  Isabel  sometimes  failed  in  the 
letter:  and  each  in  her  own  way  fulfilled  the  apostolic 
injunction. 

And  now  Fabia  no  longer  grumbled  at  the  length  of 
Charlie's  anecdotes :  on  the  contrary,  she  listened  from  begin- 
ning to  end,  laughing  and  applauding  at  the  right  moments, 
as  a  good  wife  should.  Even  in  the  story  of  Mrs.  Gay- 
thorne  and  the  harvest-thanksgiving  she  murmured  responses 
of  the  correct  sort  at  the  correct  places,  never  omitting  one. 
It  is  always  amusing,  as  well  as  profitable,  to  see  a  wifely 
wife  listening  to  her  husband's  stock  anecdotes:  the  recital 
becomes  a  sort  of  litany,  wherein  he  takes  the  part  of  the 
parson  and  she  that  of  the  parish  clerk.  He  pauses  for  her 
responses,  and  she  utters  them  almost  before  he  has  time  to 
pause,  and  thus  gives  the  lead  to  the  rest  of  the  congregation. 
She  is  not  enthusiastic — not  too  much  surprised  or  too  much 
amused:  that  she  leaves  for  those  of  the  audience  (if  there 
be  any  such)  who  have  never  heard  the  tale  before.  She 
does  not  laugh  herself;  she  merely  shows  others  when  to 
laugh.  In  short,  she  uses  a  mental  tuning-fork,  and  starts 
the  tune  for  others  to  sing:  and  she  generally  affords  the 
same  official  support  to  the  reciter  of  the  anecdote  as  the 
clerk  affords  to  his  parish  priest. 

[320] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

At  the  end  of  July  the  Gaythornes  duly  migrated  to  their 
country  house;  and  there  found  Mrs.  Carr  and  her  daugh- 
ter-in-law pursuing  the  even  tenor  of  their  way  uncheered 
by  any  news  of  Gabriel.  It  seemed  indeed  as  if  the  lost 
Rector  were  blotted  out  of  existence;  and  as  if  that  passing 
glimpse  in  the  Parisian  theatre  were  the  last  that  would 
ever  be  seen  of  him  by  those  who  had  known  him  in  his 
former  state  of  existence. 

Janet  was  very  calm,  very  resigned ;  and  her  love  for  her 
husband  stood  the  test  of  time  and  absence,  remaining  as 
firm  and  devoted  as  ever.  She  carried  the  art  of  perfect 
wifehood  to  a  point  not  attained  by  Fabia  or  by  Isabel. 
They  loved  and  honoured  and  obeyed  men  who  would  only 
be  obeyed  in  spite  of  themselves ;  men  who  freely  and  chival- 
rously offered  the  submission  and  devotion  which  they  had 
the  right  to  demand:  men  who  in  spite  of  (or,  rather,  per- 
haps on  account  of)  their  divine  right  of  kingship,  always 
rendered  to  the  consort  the  special  honour  and  the  higher 
place.  The  theory  of  wifely  submission  might  be  naturally 
acceptable  to  Fabia  and  naturally  unacceptable  to  Isabel: 
they  approached  the  question  from  the  opposite  sides  of  two 
hemispheres ;  but  the  practice  of  the  thing  was  simply  child's 
play  where  such  men  as  Paul  Seaton  and  Charlie  Gaythorne 
were  concerned. 

But  with  poor  Janet  it  was  different.  She  had  sworn 
allegiance  to  a  monarch  who  had  vacated  his  throne  as  soon 
as  he  had  the  right  to  occupy  it :  she  owed  her  submission  to 
a  king  who  had  flung  away  his  crown  the  moment  after  it 
was  planted  upon  his  brow.  Yet  her  fealty  remained  un- 
altered, her  loyalty  unchanged.  She  was  married  to  a  hus- 
band who  had  apparently  repudiated  her  without  the  slight- 
est reason  for  so  doing;  and  yet  her  wifely  devotion  was  as 


THE    SUBJECTION 

deep  and  absorbing  as  it  had  been  on  her  marriage  day.  She 
was  prepared,  should  Gabriel  return  to  her,  to  welcome  him 
back  as  if  nothing  had  happened  and  to  love  and  to  cherish 
him  as  tenderly  as  ever,  asking  no  questions  and  uttering  no 
reproaches :  and,  should  he  never  return  to  her,  to  go  mourn- 
ing for  him  all  the  days  of  her  life,  and  to  go  down  to  the 
grave  honouring  and  respecting  his  memory. 

And  then  it  came  to  pass  that  a  great  change  came  o'er  the 
spirit  of  Janet's  dream.  For  her  there  was  a  new  heaven  and 
a  new  earth,  so  new  and  so  wonderful  that  for  a  time  sorrow 
and  sighing  fled  away,  and  her  former  miseries  were  forgot- 
ten. In  the  middle  of  August  her  baby  was  born,  and  she 
touched  the  high-water-mark  of  human  happiness  and  entered 
into  the  earthly  paradise:  that  paradise  which  was  opened  to 
Woman  after  her  banishment  from  Eden,  and  the  gates 
whereof  have  never  yet  been  closed.  True,  those  gates  are 
still  guarded  by  the  twin  cherubim  Sorrow  and  Suffering, 
whose  fiery  swords  pierce  to  the  very  bones  and  marrow: 
but  they  are  not  impregnable:  and  those  blessed  among 
women  who  win  through  those  fiery  barriers  and  reach  the 
other  side  find  themselves  resting  at  the  foot  of  the  tree 
of  life  which  grows  in  the  very  midst  of  the  paradise  of 
God. 

To  Janet's  delight  the  baby  was  a  boy:  and  her  mother- 
in-law  shared  her  joy ;  for  Mrs.  Carr  was  one  of  the  people 
who  consider  that  the  world  was  made  for  men  only,  and 
that  girls  and  women  were  mere  padding.  To  bear  a  son 
was  in  Mrs.  Carr's  mind  the  height  of  feminine  honour  and 
glory:  to  bear  a  daughter,  only  one  degree  more  creditable 
than  being  an  old  maid.  It  is  not  an  uncommon  type:  and 
it  came  to  perfection  in  the  early  Victorian  age. 

Mrs.  Gaythorne  was  as  early-Victorian  as  Mrs.  Carr; 

[322] 


OF   ISABEL    CARNABY 

but  in  this  respect  the  two  ladies  fundamentally  differed.  It 
was  the  grief  of  Mrs.  Gaythorne's  life  that  she  had  never 
had  a  daughter  to  train  up  in  the  way  that  she  herself  had 
so  ably  and  so  firmly  trod :  and  she  had  abundant  sympathy 
with  the  regret  which  the  immortal  aunt  of  David  Copper- 
field  summed  up  in  the  expression,  "  Your  sister,  Betsy 
Trotwood."  Even  now  Mrs.  Gaythorne's  mind  bristled 
with  devices  whereby  Charlie's  sister — if  he  had  ever  had 
one — might  have  benefited  the  human  race.  A  son  was  all 
very  well,  she  admitted :  he  could  fight  for  his  country,  and 
he  could  follow  in  his  father's  footsteps  and  step  into  his 
father's  shoes:  but  he  could  neither  conduct  a  Mothers' 
Meeting  nor  regulate  a  Ladies'  Needlework  Guild,  and  it 
was  no  use  pretending  that  he  could.  Yet  duties  such  as 
these  might — and  probably  would — have  been  ably  fulfilled 
by  his  sister,  if  only  he  had  had  one:  therefore  Mrs.  Gay- 
thorne  never  ceased  to  regret  the  absence  of  that  amiable 
and  efficient  young  lady. 

Therefore  it  followed  that  Mrs.  Gaythorne  seriously 
objected  to  the  sex  of  Janet's  baby;  and  was  the  more  deeply 
rooted  in  the  objection — which  she  experienced  more  or  less 
towards  every  mother's  son  wrhose  advent  was  chronicled  in 
the  first  column  of  The  Times — by  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances of  the  case.  In  the  first  place,  she  argued  in  her  own 
mind,  it  was  far  more  difficult  for  a  woman  to  bring  up  a 
son  than  a  daughter  without  her  husband's  help;  and  in  the 
second,  another  Gabriel  Carr  did  not  seem  likely  to  make 
for  the  comfort  of  those  concerned  in  him,  judging  from  his 
father's  recent  example. 

But  Janet's  happiness  was  complete.  God  had  given  to 
her  the  desire  of  her  heart — a  son  to  fill  Gabriel's  place  and 
to  take  Gabriel's  name — and  so  she  was  content.  Of  course 

[323] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

she  could  not  fail  now  and  again  to  be  overpowered  with 
longing  for  her  husband  to  share  this  new  bliss  with  her: 
but  she  was  one  of  those  rare  people  who  really  and  truly 
have  faith  in  God. 

The  majority  of  us  believe  in  Him  more  or  less;  so  do  the 
devils  who  believe  and  tremble :  but  how  many  of  us  believe 
in  Him  as  the  great  Controller  of  all  things — without  Whom 
not  even  a  sparrow  can  fall  to  the  ground,  and  yet  Who 
calleth  the  stars  by  their  names  that  not  one  faileth?  How 
many  of  us  actually  hold  fast  the  truth  that  our  times  are 
in  His  Hands,  and  that  nothing  can  happen  to  us  save  what 
is  ordained  and  permitted  by  Him?  If  we  really  believed 
this,  what  would  become  of  all  that  worry  and  anxiety 
which  burden  our  hearts  and  line  our  faces?  Where  would 
be  our  despair  for  the  present  or  our  doubts  for  the  future? 
If  we  believed  with  our  hearts  what  we  profess  with  our 
lips,  that  all  things  work  together  for  good  to  them  that 
love  Him,  according  to  His  promise,  we  should  mount  up 
with  wings  like  eagles  and  should  walk  and  not  faint.  But 
we  do  not  really  believe  it.  Every  foreboding  for  the  future, 
every  doubt,  every  fear,  are  so  many  contradictions  of  His 
Word,  so  many  slurs  upon  His  faithfulness.  And  thus  by 
our  own  limitations  we  limit  the  power  of  God ;  and  He 
cannot  do  many  mighty  works  among  us  because  of  our 
unbelief.  "  If  Thou  canst  do  anything,  have  compassion 
upon  us  and  help  us !  "  So  prayed  the  father  of  the  boy 
possessed  with  the  dumb  spirit ;  and  so  we  are  praying  today. 
And  the  answer  is  the  same  as  it  was  then :  "  If  thou  canst 
believe,  all  things  are  possible  to  him  that  believeth."  There 
is  no  limit  to  what  Christ  can  do  to  help  us;  the  only  limit 
is  in  ourselves.  The  words  of  Jesus  are  still  sounding  in 
our  ears,  "  According  to  your  faith  so  be  it  unto  you :  "  and 

[324] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

it  is  unto  us  only  according  to  our  faith;  and  therefore  the 
result  often  falls  short  of  what  He  is  ready  and  willing  to 
do  on  our  behalf.  Through  our  blindness  and  hardness  of 
heart  we  cannot  believe;  and  so  we  miss  the  blessing  that 
would  otherwise  be  ours,  and  forfeit  our  inheritance. 

But  Janet  Carr  was  so  rooted  and  grounded  in  the  faith 
that  all  things  are  made  by  Him,  and  without  Him  was  not 
anything  made  that  was  made,  that  she  accepted  all  the 
orderings  of  her  life  as  direct  from  Him,  and  therefore  never 
chafed  nor  rebelled.  She  was  as  certain  that  the  cloud  which 
had  darkened  her  life  had  been  sent  by  God,  as  she  was  cer- 
tain that  the  birds  and  the  flowers  were  the  works  of  His 
Hands:  and  she  knew  that  all  things  were  working  together 
for  her  good,  however  hard  it  might  be  just  now  to  under- 
stand their  why  and  their  wherefore. 

There  was  much  consultation  and  discussion  over  the 
baby's  name,  the  fact  that  his  mother  had  already  settled  it 
in  no  way  interfering  with  the  full  expression  of  Mrs.  Gay- 
thorne's  views  upon  the  subject. 

"  If  it  had  been  a  girl,"  she  remarked,  as  she  and  Mrs. 
Carr  were  sitting  by  Janet's  sofa,  "  it  might  have  been 
called  after  Me."  As  usual  she  used  the  capital  letter  in 
speaking  of  herself.  "  I  approve  of  children  being  named 
after  their  god-parents."  Janet  had  already  asked  Mrs. 
Gaythorne  to  act  as  godmother:  that  lady  seemed  so  admira- 
bly fitted  to  renounce  the  devil  and  all  his  works  on  behalf 
of  anybody  or  everybody. 

"So  it  might,"  agreed  Janet:  "but  being  a  boy,  there 
are  difficulties  in  the  way.  I  never  heard  of  a  boy  being 
christened  Eliza." 

"  Neither  did  I,  my  dear:  nor  should  I  approve  of  such 
a  thing.  I  do  not  like  boys  to  be  christened  by  girls'  names ; 

[325] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

it  savours  of  Popery.  There  is  nothing  that  shocks  me  more 
than  to  hear  of  Roman  Catholic  kings  being  called  '  Joseph 
Mary,'  and  mixed  names  like  that." 

"No,"  replied  Janet  demurely;  "I  agree  with  you  that 
Eliza  is  not  a  suitable  name  for  a  boy.  In  fact  I  don't 
remember  of  ever  hearing  of  even  a  Roman  Catholic  king's 
being  christened  Eliza." 

"  I  do  not  recall  one  myself  at  the  present  moment:  but 
I  daresay  there  are  plenty  if  we  only  knew.  Romanists  are 
capable  of  anything." 

Here  Mrs.  Carr  joined  in.  "  Still,  dear  Mrs.  Gaythorne, 
I  always  considered  Eliza  quite  a  Protestant  name — so  sug- 
gestive of  good  Queen  Bess  and  the  Electress  Sophia  of 
Hanover  and  people  of  that  kind:  and  I  almost  think  that 
Martin  Luther's  wife  was  called  Elizabeth  if  it  wasn't 
Catherine,  and  there  is  nothing  at  all  Romanising  in  the 
poetry  of  Eliza  Cooke." 

Mrs.  Gaythorne  was  pleased  at  this  complimentary  refer- 
ence to  the  name  given  to  her  by  her  godfather  and  god- 
mothers in  her  baptism.  "  Yes :  I  think  there  is  a  good 
Protestant  sound  about  Eliza,  and  I  thank  heaven  for  it! 
I  should  not  have  liked  to  bear  a  Popish-sounding  name. 
That  is  my  only  objection  to  Mary;  to  my  mind  it  savours 
somewhat  of  Roman  Catholicism,  even  when  applied  to  a 
woman." 

"  Oh!  no,  no,  no,  dear  Mrs.  Gaythorne;  pray  do  not  say 
that,"  Mrs.  Carr  expostulated. 

"  I  must  say  it  if  I  think  it." 

Janet  failed  to  see  this  necessity;  but  to  Mrs.  Gaythorne 
it  was  paramount. 

"  Mary  is  the  most  beautiful  name  in  the  world,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Carr;  "I  remember  learning  a  poem  when  I 

[326] 


OF   ISABEL    CARNABY 

was  a  girl  which  began,  '  In  Christian  world  Mary  the  some- 
thing wears ' ;  I  forget  exactly  what  it  was  that  she  wore, 
but  I  know  it  meant  that  Mary  is  the  most  beautiful  name 
in  the  world  except  Edith :  and  I  really  don't  think  it  sounds 
at  all  Popish  unless  you  put  the  prefix  Bloody  before  it:  I 
don't  indeed,  Mrs.  Gaythorne." 

Janet  was  not  very  strong,  so  she  utterly  failed  to  conceal 
her  amusement.  "  I  don't  remember  ever  to  have  heard  of  a 
child  being  christened  Bloody  Mary,"  she  remarked. 

"  Excepting  the  queen  of  that  name,"  emended  Mrs. 
Gaythorne. 

"  I  don't  think  that  even  she  was  christened  anything  but 
Mary.  I  fancy  the  other  name  was  an  accretion." 

"  Janet  Carr,  do  not  attempt  to  teach  me  history.  Bloody 
Mary  was  her  name  and  Bloody  Mary  was  her  nature :  from 
my  earliest  childhood  I  have  called  her  by  no  other  name, 
and  I  never  shall." 

This  was  conclusive,  so  Janet  wisely  dropped  the  subject. 

"If  I  had  had  a  daughter,"  remarked  Mrs.  Carr,  "I 
should  have  called  her  Margaret  after  poor  dear  aunt 
Susan." 

"  I  do  not  quite  see  that,  Eveline.  How  could  you  call 
her  Margaret  after  a  woman  who  was  named  Susan?" 

"  Because  poor  dear  aunt  Susan's  name  was  Susan  Mar- 
garet, and  Margaret  is  so  much  the  prettier  name  of  the  two, 
and  I  think  it  is  much  nicer  for  a  girl  to  have  a  pretty  name 
than  an  ugly  one,  if  it  is  all  the  same  to  everybody  and  the 
relations  equally  pleased.  I  think  Margaret  is  a  sweet  name 
in  itself,  and  Madge  or  Maggie  so  nice  for  her  own  family 
and  intimate  friends,  and  not  quite  so  stiff  and  stately,  being 
shorter  for  everyday  use." 

"  If  I  had  been  so  blessed  as  to  have  a  daughter,"  said 

[327] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

Mrs.  Gaythorne,  "  I  should  have  called  her  Maria  after 
my  eldest  sister." 

"  But  you  said  it  sounded  Popish,  Mrs.  Gaythorne." 
Janet  could  not  resist  this  temptation. 

"  I  did  nothing  of  the  kind,  Janet  Carr.  I  said  that 
Mary  did." 

"  But  they  are  the  same  name." 

"  Janet  Carr,  you  are  talking  nonsense.  You  might  as 
well  say  that  Eliza  and  Elizabeth  are  the  same  name." 

"  So  they  are." 

"  They  cannot  be :  because  I  was  christened  Eliza  after 
Lady  Summerhill,  and  my  youngest  sister  was  christened 
Elizabeth  after  aunt  Elizabeth  Latimer;  and  our  parents 
could  not  possibly  have  called  two  children  by  the  same 
name.  Besides  Lady  Summerhill  and  aunt  Elizabeth  Lati- 
mer were  totally  different  people,  in  no  way  resembling  each 
other." 

This  again  wyas  conclusive:  so  Janet  once  more  wisely 
turned  to  a  side  issue.  "  Well,  for  my  part,  I  don't  see 
that  Maria  sounds  more  Protestant  than  Mary." 

"  It  does:  my  eldest  sister  was  named  Maria." 

This  was  the  most  conclusive  of  all.  Janet  felt  that  to 
go  on  arguing  in  the  face  of  this  statement  was  beating  the 
air;  so  she  desisted. 

"  And  she  was  named  Maria,"  added  Mrs.  Gaythorne  by 
way  of  further  proof  of  the  Protestant  tendencies  of  the 
name  (as  if  any  further  proof  were  needed!),  "after  aunt 
Maria  Latimer,  who  always  lived  in  the  near  vicinity  of 
our  birthplace." 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Janet's  tongue  to  ask  where  that  was : 
but  she  checked  herself.  It  seemed  such  a  proof  of  historical 
ignorance  not  to  know  Mrs.  Gaythorne's  birthplace. 

[328] 


OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

"  But  we  are  wandering  from  Janet's  point,"  Mrs.  Gay- 
thorne  went  on.  "  The  question  to  be  now  considered  is, 
what  are  we  to  call  Janet's  baby  ?  " 

"  He  will  be  called  Gabriel  after  his  father,"  said  Janet. 
She  spoke  very  quietly,  but  the  two  who  listened  realised 
that  the  matter  was  settled  and  that  further  discussion  was 
useless.  So  Mrs.  Gaythorne  dropped  the  subject.  She 
knew  her  match — and,  what  is  more,  she  respected  her 
match — when  she  met  it. 

The  weeks  rolled  on;  and  each  day  led  to  the  discovery 
of   fresh   perfections   in   the   baby   Gabriel.     No  one   who 
has  not  watched  the  growth  of  a  little  child  has  any  idea 
of  the  wonderful  developments  which  are  new  every  morn- 
ing, nor  of  the  absorbing  interests  which  such  developments 
excite  in  the  loving  mind  of  the  onlooker.     There  is  no 
interest  more  absorbing — few  as  much  so ;  yet  it  is  the  fash- 
ion nowadays  to  scoff  at  the  delights  of  the  baby-world,  and 
to  pretend  that  modern  women  need  wider  fields  of  thought 
and  occupation  than  the  house  and  the  nursery  afford.    Let 
the  modern  women  scoff  if  they  will!     But  let  them  also 
remember  that  if  they  would  have  a  foretaste  of  the  millen- 
nium here  and  now,  they  must  put  away  for  a  time  all  the 
cares  of  this  world  and  the  deceitfulness  of  its  riches,  and 
must  slip  aside  into  that  magic  fairyland  which  lies  around 
all  of  us  in  our  infancy,  but  of  which,  alas!  we  soon  lose  the 
key,  so  that  we  can  go  in  and  out  by  ourselves  no  more. 
And  they  cannot  do  this  unless  a  little  child  shall  lead  them. 
It  was  a  bitterly  cold  evening  early  in  the  new  year.   Mrs. 
Carr  had  gone  to  visit  some  friends  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  her  old  home,  leaving  Janet  to  the  uninterrupted  society 
of  her  baby:  and  Janet  was  happy  in  the  new  bliss  that  had 
come  to  her,  although  sometimes  her  longing  for  her  hus- 

[329] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

band  seemed  almost  more  than  she  could  bear.  But  she  had 
learnt  to  possess  her  soul  in  patience  and  to  wait  upon  the 
Lord :  and  therefore — as  in  the  case  with  all  those  who  have 
thus  learnt  to  wait — He  inclined  unto  her  and  heard  jher 
calling. 

Suddenly  the  front  door  bell  rang:  and  as  the  one  servant 
was  upstairs  and  the  other  was  out,  Janet  laid  her  baby 
down  on  the  drawing-room  sofa  and  went  to  open  the  door 
herself.  She  thought  it  could  not  be  anybody  but  Mrs.  Gay- 
thorne  or  Fabia  at  this  late  hour  of  the  day ;  and  she  did  not 
want  to  keep  either  of  them  standing  out  in  the  cold. 

But  it  was  neither  the  one  nor  the  other. 

On  the  door-step  stood  a  tall  man  dressed  in  a  light  suit 
of  clothes,  over  which  he  wore  a  somewhat  flashy  top-coat 
with  a  velvet  collar:  the  sort  of  costume  that  would  be  worn 
by  a  fifth-rate  actor  or  a  member  of  the  swell-mob.  Janet 
was  a  short  woman,  and  the  hall  at  the  Rectory  was  but 
poorly  lighted;  so  that  she  saw  the  stranger's  clothes  before 
she  saw  his  face,  which  was  in  the  shadow.  But  as  he 
stepped  forward  and  the  dim  light  from  the  hall-lamp  fell 
upon  him  what  was  her  incredible  joy  and  gladness  to 
recognise  in  this  showily-dressed  stranger  her  husband, 
Gabriel  Carr! 


[330] 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

THE    FIVE    DOTS 

WITH  a  cry  of  delight  Janet  flung  herself  into  her  hus- 
band's arms,  and  the  two  clung  to  each  other  for  a  few  sec- 
onds in  the  inarticulate  joy  of  reunion:  then  she  drew 
Gabriel  into  the  house,  shutting  the  door  behind  him,  and 
gazed  earnestly  into  his  face. 

Her  first  thought  was  that  they  had  lied  to  her  when  they 
told  her  that  sin  and  shame  had  written  their  story  upon 
his  features.  There  was  not  a  word  of  truth  in  such  a  state- 
ment. He  looked  older  perhaps:  but  his  face  was  more 
spiritual  and  saintly  than  ever — the  face  of  a  man  who,  like 
Enoch,  had  walked  with  God. 

Her  next  thought  was  how  much  better  in  health  he 
looked  than  when  they  parted :  he  had  lost  all  signs  of  deli- 
cacy, and  appeared  strong  and  well  and  in  good  condition. 

Then  all  thoughts  were  swallowed  up  in  the  ecstasy  of 
seeing  him  face  to  face,  and  feeling  his  dear  arms  round  her 
once  more.  It  was  only  now  that  the  misery  of  it  was  sud- 
denly relaxed,  that  Janet  realised  all  the  agony  she  had 
undergone  since  Gabriel's  disappearance:  it  was  only  in  the 
revulsion  back  to  joy,  that  she  knew  how  terrible  the  bygone 
pain  had  been.  For  a  time  her  whole  being  was  merged  in 
the  torrent  of  overwhelming  happiness  which  swept  over  her 
soul.  Wherever  Gabriel  had  been,  he  was  now  at  home 


THE   SUBJECTION 

again:  whatever  he  had  done,  he  was  still  her  husband, 
bound  to  her  by  an  indissoluble  tie  which  could  never  be 
broken. 

For  what  seemed  an  eternity  of  bliss  the  two  married  lov- 
ers remained  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  murmuring  mean- 
while passionate  and  inarticulate  expressions  of  tenderness 
and  endearment.  The  first  to  speak  was  Janet.  "  Oh!  my 
love,  my  love,"  she  whispered,  "  it  is  heaven  on  earth  to  have 
you  back  again !  " 

"  My  dearest,  think  what  it  must  be  to  me  to  come  back !  " 

"Dear  heart,  where  have  you  been  this  long  time?" 
Janet  went  on  when  her  husband  allowed  her  once  more  to 
speak.  "  Life  has  been  dark  and  hard  indeed  without  you!  " 

Gabriel's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  he  looked  into  her  face 
and  saw  the  lines  that  sorrow  had  engraved  therein.  "  My 
poor  little  girl,  what  a  brute  you  must  think  I  have  been !  " 

Janet  started  back,  and  put  her  hand  over  his  mouth. 
"  No,  no,  Gabriel :  I  have  never  thought  you  that.  Although 
God  knows  it  has  been  hard  to  bear.  He  also  knows  that  I 
have  never  once  doubted  you,  nor  imagined  for  a  moment 
that  you  were  in  any  way  to  blame.  My  confidence  in  you 
is  as  firm  and  unshaken  as  it  ever  was.  See,  my  beloved,  I 
will  prove  it  to  you  by  never  again  asking  you  any  ques- 
tions as  to  your  absence:  as  long  as  you  tell  me  that  you 
have  been  well  and  happy,  I  am  content." 

"  My  own  darling  wife !  " 

"  It  isn't  that  I  don't  wonder  where  you  have  been  and 
why  you  didn't  come  back  to  me  before,"  continued  Janet: 
"  I  have  done  nothing  but  wonder  that  all  the  time.  But  if 
for  any  reason  you  would  rather  not  tell  me,  don't.  Remem- 
ber nothing  that  you  say  or  leave  unsaid  will  ever  make  any 
difference  in  my  love  to  you." 

[332] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

Gabriel's  only  answer  was  another  passionate  embrace: 
and  then  Janet  said,  "  Come  into  the  drawing-room,  love, 
and  see  baby;  and  I  will  get  you  something  to  eat." 

Even  Gabriel,  well  as  he  thought  he  knew  her,  was 
astonished  at  her  absolute  trust  and  confidence.  Was  there 
another  woman  in  England,  he  wondered,  who  in  such  cir- 
cumstances would  not  have  insisted  upon  knowing  where 
her  husband  had  been,  and  what  he  had  been  doing,  and 
why  he  had  forsaken  her?  He  had  not  found  so  great  faith 
as  this  in  all  his  life  before. 

And  when  she  laid  their  baby  in  his  arms  it  was  just  the 
same.  She  gave  up  the  child  absolutely  into  his  keeping, 
without  asking  why  he  had  left  her  house  unto  her  desolate 
until  that  child  was  born. 

"  But,  my  dear  love,  you  must  hear  why  I  went  away  and 
why  I  could  not  come  back  before,"  he  said,  after  he  had 
kissed  and  blessed  the  boy. 

"  Not  unless  you  wish  to  tell  me,"  she  repeated.  "  It  is 
enough  for  me  that  the  dead  is  alive  again  and  the  lost  is 
found." 

And  once  more  he  marvelled  at  the  perfection  of  her  faith 

and  love. 

But  after  he  had  had  food  and  drink  and  was  refreshed 
and  strengthened,  he  told  Janet  his  story.  And  she  sat  at 
his  feet  in  the  firelight,  and  tasted  the  full  fruition  of  human 
bliss. 

"  After  I  left  you  that  day  in  the  inn,"  he  began,  "  I 
walked  for  a  time  over  the  moor;  and  then  the  fog  suddenly 
became  so  dense  that  I  missed  my  way  altogether,  and  when 
I  tried  to  get  back  again  I  found  that  I  had  completely  lost 
all  my  bearings.  Once  or  twice  I  found  myself  at  the  edge 
of  deep  pits  or  quarries,  and  was  only  just  saved  from  falling 

[333] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

over:  so — after  one  or  two  experiences  of  this  kind — I  de- 
cided that  it  was  unwise  to  wander  about  any  more  in  the 
fog,  and  that  I  had  better  find  some  sheltered  spot  and  stay 
there  until  the  mist  lifted." 

Janet  shuddered:  "How  terrible!"  she  murmured. 

Gabriel  continued :  "  Then  suddenly  I  found  myself  close 
to  a  shepherd's  hut,  and  thought  I  would  wait  there  until  it 
was  safe  to  go  back  to  the  inn  again.  It  was  not  yet  dark, 
as  it  was  still  early  in  the  afternoon,  but  the  wall  of  white 
mist  was  impenetrable.  So  I  entered  the  hut:  and  to  my 
horror  found  that  it  was  already  tenanted — and  tenanted  by 
an  escaped  convict  from  Dartmoor  prison.  I  knew  him  at 
once  by  his  dress." 

"Oh!  Gabriel,  whatever  did  you  do?" 

"I  did  the  best  I  could  in  the  circumstances:  I  told  him 
at  once  who  I  was  and  that  I  had  lost  my  way,  and  I  begged 
him  of  his  courtesy  to  allow  me  to  share  the  hut  with 
him." 

"  Was  he  very  wicked-looking?  "  Janet  asked. 

"  No ;  that  is  the  strange  part  of  the  story.  He  was  an 
exact  counterpart  of  myself  in  appearance — the  same  age, 
the  same  height,  the  same  colouring,  the  same  features.  He 
might  have  been  my  twin  brother.  I  have  since  found  out 
that  he  was  a  noted  criminal  of  Italian  extraction,  by  name 
Cassar  Costello:  and  that  he  was  serving  a  five  years'  sen- 
tence for  a  burglary  near  Exeter,  more  than  a  year  of  which 
sentence  was  yet  to  run." 

"  How  very  strange  that  he  should  have  been  so  like 
you !  "  exclaimed  Janet. 

"  Those  accidental  resemblances  are  always  strange,  my 
darling:  but  perhaps  this  one  may  be  to  some  extent 
accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  both  Costello  and  I  have 

[334] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

Italian  blood  in  our  veins;  and  in  the  two  cases  the  same 
mixed  nationalities  have  produced  the  same  physical  type." 

"  Yes,  yes:  now  I  begin  to  see  how  it  all  happened." 

Gabriel  continued  his  narrative.  "  But  the  worst  part  is 
yet  to  come.  To  my  further  horror  I  found  that  the  man 
was  raving  mad !  At  least  so  he  appeared  to  be  at  the  time  ; 
but  I  have  since  discovered  that  he  feigned  madness  in  order 
to  suit  his  own  purposes,  and  was  really  as  sane  as  you  or 
I — and  a  great  deal  cleverer !  " 

"What  did  he  do?" 

"  He  was  silent  at  first,  evidently  maturing  his  plans,  and 
seeing  how  he  could  make  the  most  of  the  opportunity  thus 
thrown  in  his  way.  And  then  suddenly  he  seized  a  rifle 
which  he  had  with  him  (he  had  seized  it,  I  presume,  from 
the  warder  in  charge  of  the  gang,  when  he  knocked  the  latter 
down  and  escaped) — and  held  it  at  my  head,  saying  that  he 
would  shoot  me  if  I  would  not  grant  a  request  he  was  about 
to  make." 

"And  what  was  his  request?"  asked  Janet,  absorbed  in 
the  story. 

"  That  he  might  tattoo  me  on  the  shoulder.  It  seemed  a 
mad  idea  at  the  time — just  the  thing  for  a  maniac  to  think 
of — but  I  have  since  seen  how  ingenious  it  was." 

"  So  you  submitted  ?  " 

"  There  was  nothing  else  to  be  done.  It  seemed  certainly 
preferable  to  be  tattooed  than  to  be  shot:  and  it  never 
occurred  to  me  at  the  time  that  the  man  was  anything  but 
the  dangerous  lunatic  he  pretended  to  be:  so  I  thought  it 
my  wisest  plan  to  humour  him." 

"  Certainly :  you  were  entirely  at  his  mercy,  since  he  was 
armed  and  you  were  not."  And  Janet  shuddered  again  at 
the  thought  of  her  husband's  imminent  peril. 

[335] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

"  So  he  unloaded  his  rifle,  took  the  gunpowder  out  of  one 
of  the  cartridges,  and — with  the  aid  of  the  finest  blade  in 
my  own  pocket-knife,  which  he  borrowed  for  the  occasion — 
tattooed  my  shoulder  with  five  small  dots  in  the  shape  of  a 
cross." 

"  Did  it  hurt  ?  "    Janet  was  always  very  woman. 

"  Only  like  five  pin-pricks ;  it  was  done  in  a  few  seconds. 
He  just  pricked  the  skin  and  rubbed  the  gunpowder  in. 
Then  he  laid  down  his  weapon  and  became  most  aifable, 
showing  me  a  similar  tattoo-mark  on  his  own  shoulder:  and 
I — fool  that  I  was! — congratulated  myself  upon  having 
humoured  his  insane  fancy  so  successfully.  By  that  time  it 
really  was  getting  dark:  and  as  soon  as  the  darkness  came 
on  the  man  picked  a  quarrel  with  me,  evidently  in  accordance 
with  his  rapidly-devised  plan." 

"What  did  he  quarrel  about,  dearest?" 

"I  really  cannot  remember,"  Gabriel  replied:  "it  was 
all  so  sudden.  Before  I  knew  where  I  was  he  was  wrestling 
with  me  and  we  were  fighting  for  dear  life.  And  after  that 
I  remember  no  more,  until  I  came  to  myself — many  weeks 
afterward — in  the  prison  infirmary,  after  a  severe  attack  of 
brain-fever;  and  found  that  I  had  unconsciously  taken  the 
place  of  the  escaped  convict." 

Janet  seized  her  husband's  hand  and  covered  it  with 
kisses.  "  Then  did  you  tell  them  who  you  were,  and  explain 
everything  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Of  course  I  did :  but  nobody  believed  me.  They  had 
found  me  lying  unconscious  at  the  bottom  of  a  stone  pit, 
close  to  the  shepherd's  hut;  and  I  wore  the  convict's  out- 
ward appearance  and  was  dressed  in  convict's  clothes.  More- 
over, if  further  proof  were  needed  of  my  identity  with  him, 
he  was  distinguished  by  a  tattoo-mark  upon  his  shoulder — 

[336] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

five  dots  in  the  shape  of  a  cross:  and  there  on  my  shoulder 
was  the  self-same  mark;  which,  by  the  time  that  I  was  well 
enough  to  require  confirmation  as  to  who  I  was,  had  lost 
every  sign  of  being  recently  done,  and  looked  as  if  it  had 
been  there  for  years.  How  could  they  doubt  that  I  was 
he?" 

"  Oh !   Gabriel,   they  ought  to  have  known  better." 

Gabriel  smiled  the  old  sweet  smile  that  Janet  knew  so 
well.  "  I  do  not  really  see  that  they  were  so  much  to  blame. 
All  the  evidence  was  on  their  side:  and  naturally  they 
regarded  my  statement  either  as  the  delirium  of  illness,  or 
the  feeble  subterfuge  of  a  recaptured  prisoner.  Besides  my 
very  hands  testified  against  me;  for,  as  you  know,  I  have  so 
roughened  and  coarsened  them  by  working  with  the  lads  in 
my  parish  at  carpentering  and  gardening  and  the  rest,  and 
by  conducting  the  gymnasium  for  the  benefit  of  the  boys, 
that  no  one  could  take  them  for  the  hands  of  a  gentleman. 
They  looked  as  if  the  picking  of  oakum  had  been  their 
wonted  occupation." 

"  Then  evidently  the  man  escaped  in  your  clothes :  be- 
cause you  were  supposed  to  have  ridden  to  Newton  Abbot 
in  a  farmer's  cart,  and  to  have  taken  the  train  to  London," 
said  Janet. 

"  Was  I?  Then  evidently  the  man  who  went  to  Newton 
Abbot  was  Costello  wearing  my  clothes.  He  must  have 
knocked  me  senseless,  and,  while  I  was  unconscious,  have 
changed  clothes  with  me.  Then  apparently  he  dragged  me 
out  of  the  hut  and  threw  me  over  the  edge  of  a  neighbouring 
stone-pit,  not  caring  whether  I  was  alive  or  dead.  And 
then  he  escaped  to  London." 

"  It  was  evidently  he  whom  the  Gaythornes  saw  in  Paris." 
And  then  Janet  related  to  Gabriel  the  Parisian  incident. 

[337] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

"  Those  are  his  clothes  that  you  are  wearing  now,  I 
presume,"  she  added :  "  the  clothes  that  he  wore  when  he 
was  first  taken  into  custody?  " 

Gabriel  looked  down  at  himself  with  disgust.  "  Yes :  the 
prison  authorities  gave  them  to  me  this  morning  when  I 
left  off  my  convict  dress.  Are  they  not  too  terrible  for 
words?  Costello  certainly  got  the  best  of  the  bargain  in 
the  way  of  clothes."  And  he  laughed  softly. 

"  And  you? — you  served  out  the  rest  of  his  sentence?  " 

"  I  served  out  the  rest  of  his  sentence,  my  dearest :  and 
God  was  with  me  all  the  time." 

Thus  the  year  which  the  locust  had  eaten  was  returned  to 
Janet:  and  her  husband  came  back  to  her  alive  and  well. 
Although  (or,  perhaps,  because)  she  was  prepared  to  forgive 
everything,  there  was  nothing  for  her  to  forgive:  for  it  is 
the  things  which  we  cannot  do  that  we  are  called  upon  to 
do  in  this  life — not  the  things  which  we  can.  How  often 
we  notice  that  sickness  is  sent  to  those  who  lay  unnecessary 
stress  upon  the  advantage  of  bodily  health,  and  poverty  to 
those  who  set  undue  store  upon  the  possession  of  riches: 
while  such  as  exaggerate  the  happiness  of  human  companion- 
ship are  doomed  to  a  solitary  life,  and  such  as  crave  inordi- 
nately for  fame  and  distinction  are  condemned  to  ineffective 
obscurity.  Just  as  in  the  old  days  it  was  the  cowardly 
schemer — the  man  who  always  made  up  in  craft  what  he 
lacked  in  courage — that  was  compelled  to  wrestle  upon 
Mount  Peniel  until  the  breaking  of  the  day;  while  it  was 
the  very  Hebrew  of  the  Hebrews — the  man  who  breathed 
out  threatenings  and  slaughter  against  the  disciples  of  the 
Lord  and  brought  them  bound  to  Jerusalem — that  was 
called  to  be  the  great  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles.  Thus  men 
and  women  are  taught  how  to  compass  the  impossible  and 

[338] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

to  endure  the  unendurable:  since  all  things  are  possible 
through  Christ  Which  strengthened  them. 

There  was  great  interest  felt  and  expressed  not  only  in 
his  immediate  circle  but  all  over  England,  in  Gabriel  Carr's 
return.  His  experience  was  so  remarkable  that  it  com- 
manded universal  attention.  Of  course  there  was  sincere 
regret  expressed  in  high  and  official  quarters  over  what  had 
happened,  and  an  elaborate  apology  was  despatched  from 
the  Home  Office.  But  official  apologies,  however  hand- 
some and  well  clothed  they  may  be,  hardly  compensate  to 
an  innocent  man  for  the  discomforts  arising  from  false 
imprisonment.  The  mistakes  of  those  in  authority  are 
hard  to  correct.  The  State  can  do  no  wrong:  and  there- 
fore when  it  does,  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  put  affairs  right 
again. 

But  all  things  worked  together  for  good  to  Gabriel  Carr, 
according  to  the  promise:  as  he  had  preached  and  as  he  had 
believed,  so  it  was  done  unto  him.  The  regular  hours  of 
plain  fare,  and  the  absence  of  all  responsibility  in  his  prison 
life,  had  done  more  for  his  overwrought  nervous  system 
than  any  so-called  "  rest-cures  "  could  have  done,  and  Gabriel 
was  once  more  a  strong  man.  Like  Janet,  he  had  learnt  to 
cast  all  his  care  upon  One  Who  cared  for  him  and  so  he 
likewise  had  possessed  his  soul  in  patience,  and  had  waited 
for  the  Lord. 

But  although  he  was  restored  to  health  and  strength,  the 
Rector  of  Gaythorne  did  not  resign  his  country  living  and 
once  more  take  upon  himself  the  responsibility  of  a  town 
parish :  he  gave  all  his  spare  time,  of  which  he  had  plenty,  to 
revival  work:  and  conducted  most  successful  missions  all 
over  England,  which  were  crowned  with  abundant  results. 
For  he  felt  that  in  this  way  he  accomplished  more  work  and 

[339] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

gained  a  wider  spiritual  influence  than  he  would  ever  have 
done  in  one  parish,  however  large  and  populous. 

So  the  Lord  turned  the  captivity  of  Gabriel  as  the  streams 
in  the  south,  and  blessed  his  latter  end  more  than  his  begin- 
ning. And  he  accomplished  that  which  he  pleased,  and 
prospered  in  the  thing  whereto  he  was  sent:  for  God  was 
with  him. 


[  340  1 


CHAPTER   XXV 

CAESAR      COSTELLO 

IT  was  about  a  year  after  Gabriel's  return,  and  he  was  con- 
ducting a  mission  in  one  of  the  largest  seaport  towns  in  the 
north  of  England.  As  usual  he  set  aside  a  portion  of  each 
morning  and  evening  for  seeing  privately  any  who  might 
wish  to  consult  him  upon  spiritual  matters,  and  giving  them 
discreet  and  ghostly  counsel:  and  great  was  his  amazement 
late  one  night  when  who  should  be  ushered  into  his  sanctum 
but  the  quondam  convict,  Caesar  Costello ! 

Once  again  Gabriel  was  startled  by  the  man's  extraordi- 
nary resemblance  to  himself.  And  yet  hardly  to  himself  as 
he  was,  but  rather  to  himself  as  he  might  have  been  had  he 
chosen  evil  instead  of  good,  and  walked  in  the  broad  path 
that  leadeth  to  destruction  rather  than  in  the  narrow  way 
the  end  whereof  is  everlasting  life.  There,  but  for  the  grace 
of  God,  stood  Gabriel  Carr — Gabriel  Carr  as  he  would  have 
been  had  not  the  Master  called  him  to  be  His  disciple,  and 
had  he  not  heard  the  Master's  Voice  and  followed  Him 
whithersoever  He  went. 

And  as  Gabriel  looked  closer  he  saw — with  the  trained 
eye  of  the  priest,  which  is  quick  to  pierce  below  the  surface 
and  read  the  hidden  things  of  the  heart — that  Costello  was 
not  the  same  as  when  he  saw  him  that  day  in  the  shepherd's 
hut  upon  Dartmoor.  Continued  sin  and  vice  and  dissipation 
had  ploughed  fresh  furrows  and  inscribed  new  lines  upon 

[341] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

the  man's  face.  But  there  was  something  more  than  that. 
Out  of  the  mud,  wherein  the  sinner  was  wallowing,  a 
pierced  Hand  had  made  clay  and  had  anointed  his  eyelids; 
and  whereas  he  had  been  blind,  now  he  saw — saw  himself 
as  God  saw  him,  and  regarded  his  sin  as  God  regarded  it: 
and  the  sight  had  well-nigh  driven  him  mad. 

In  broken  accents  Costello  told  Gabriel  his  story.  Told 
how  he  had  been  living  in  Paris  upon  ill-gotten  gains  ever 
since  his  escape  from  prison,  draining  the  cup  of  illicit  pleas- 
ure to  the  dregs :  and  how  he  was  then  on  his  way  to  Amer- 
ica, there  to  seek  "  fresh  woods  and  pastures  new,"  where 
he  might  pluck  the  fruits  of  sin  and  cultivate  the  flowers  of 
vice.  On  his  way  to  the  docks  he  had  passed  the  door  of  the 
hall  where  the  Rector  of  Gaythorne  was  conducting  his 
mission;  and,  having  learnt  from  the  notices  outside  the 
doors  who  the  missioner  was,  Costello  was  compelled  by  curi- 
osity to  look  in  just  to  see  once  more  the  man  who  had  stood 
in  his  place  and  had  suffered  in  his  stead. 

And  then,  through  the  mouth  of  the  preacher,  God  spoke 
to  the  sinner,  and  called  him  out  of  the  darkness  of  ignorance 
into  the  marvellous  light  of  spiritual  knowledge.  In  that 
light  Costello  saw  the  hideousness  of  his  own  soul  and  his 
own  sins,  and  cried  to  the  mountains  to  cover  him  and  the 
earth  to  swallow  him,  so  that  he  might  escape  from  the 
Presence  of  the  living  God.  The  fear  of  the  Lord  con- 
sumed him:  the  fire  of  God's  wrath  shrivelled  him  up. 
Horror  overwhelmed  him,  and  terror  made  him  afraid.  His 
soul  stood  naked  and  ashamed  before  its  Maker,  and  strove 
in  vain  to  hide  itself  from  the  vengeance  of  God.  And  now 
he  came  to  the  man,  who  had  been  God's  instrument  in 
awakening  him  out  of  the  sleep  of  sin  to  the  awful  con- 
sciousness of  his  own  condition,  in  the  hope  that  he  might 

[342] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

thereby  find  balm  in  Gilead,  and  a  physician  to  minister  to 
his  spirit's  sickness. 

For  long  hours  Gabriel  talked  and  prayed  with  the 
stricken  man.  On  the  sinner's  behalf  he  wrestled  until  the 
breaking  of  the  day  with  One  Who  is  ever  mighty  to  save : 
and  because  the  fervent  prayer  of  a  righteous  man  availeth 
much — because  he  himself  had  vicariously  suffered  and  had 
implicitly  believed — he  had  power  with  God  and  prevailed. 

And  then  there  happened  to  Caesar  Costello  that  great 
miracle  which  is  as  old  and  as  new  as  the  great  miracles  of 
birth  and  death :  that  miracle  which  is  described  by  Catholics 
as  Regeneration,  and  by  Evangelicals  as  Conversion,  and  by 
the  Master  Himself  as  being  born  of  the  Spirit:  that  miracle 
which  is  as  mysterious  as  the  wind  blowing  where  it  listeth 
and  though  men  hear  the  sound  thereof  they  cannot  tell 
whence  it  cometh  nor  whither  it  goeth;  and  yet  without 
which  no  man  can  see  God. 

As  the  two  knelt  together  wrestling  with  God  for  a  sin- 
ner's salvation,  their  prayers  were  heard  and  answered.  The 
Son  of  Man  Who  alone  hath  power  on  earth  to  forgive  sins, 
blotted  out  the  handwriting  which  was  against  the  ex-con- 
vict, nailing  it  to  His  Own  Cross:  and  a  clean  heart  was 
granted  to  Caesar  Costello,  a  right  spirit  was  renewed  within 
him.  He  was  converted  and  became  as  a  little  child,  and 
then  and  there  entered  into  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven. 

After  the  men  had  risen  from  their  knees,  Costello's  first 
thought  was  how  he  could  make  reparation  for  the  sins  he 
had  committed:  and  he  told  Gabriel  that  he  intended  as 
soon  as  it  was  day  to  give  himself  up  to  the  authorities  so 
that  they  might  send  him  back  to  Dartmoor,  there  to  work 
out  the  rest  of  his  sentence. 

But  Gabriel  bade  him  forbear.    "  I  do  not  know  if  what 

[343] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

I  am  going  to  say  to  you  is  according  to  the  laws  of  man," 
he  said,  "  but  I  believe  it  is  according  to  the  laws  of  God : 
and  I  tell  you  not  to  give  yourself  up  again  to  the  authorities, 
nor  to  return  to  prison." 

Costello  was  amazed:  this  had  seemed  the  only  course 
open  to  him.  But  he  was  ready  to  subjugate  his  will  and 
submit  his  judgment  to  the  man  who  had  shown  him  the 
way  to  the  foot  of  the  Cross.  "  I  will  do  whatever  you  bid 
me,"  he  replied. 

"  Then  listen.  I  hold  that  one  sin  cannot  be  doubly 
expiated  nor  punished  twice  over;  and  your  sin  has  been 
expiated,  your  chastisement  has  been  borne,  by  me.  There- 
fore I  believe  that  the  punishment  of  your  iniquity  is  accom- 
plished, and  your  sin  is  pardoned,  because  I  have  suffered  in 
your  stead.  By  right  of  what  I  have  borne  for  you,  I  have 
redeemed  you;  and  now  you  are  no  longer  your  own,  but 
mine!" 

Tears  filled  the  criminal's  eyes,  and  he  could  not  speak. 
He  was  dumbfoundered  by  such  generosity. 

"  I  daresay  I  am  all  wrong  according  to  the  laws  of  Eng- 
land," Gabriel  continued  with  a  smile :  "  but  I  believe  that 
I  am  doing  right  according  to  the  laws  of  Heaven.  Besides, 
surely  I  have  paid  the  full  price  for  what  I  claim :  I  served 
fourteen  months  in  Dartmoor  for  it,  and  that  was  no  light 
matter." 

s 

"  But  mayn't  you  get  into  trouble  yourself  by  screening 
me  ?  "  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Costello  put  another's 
interest  before  his  own.  "  Oughtn't  you  to  give  me  up  to 
justice?" 

"  No ;  my  conscience  is  quite  clear  on  that  score.  What  I 
have  heard  from  you  has  been  told  under  the  seal  of  the  con- 
fessional, and  therefore  I  am  bound  not  to  repeat  a  word  of 

[344] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

it.  It  would  be  against  every  principle  of  my  sacred  profes- 
sion and  calling.  All  I  could  do  would  be  to  induce  a  peni- 
tent to  give  himself  up  to  justice,  if  I  thought  that  was  the 
right  thing  to  do:  but  in  this  case  I  do  not  think  so." 

'*  Then  do  you  mean  to  say,  sir,  that  I  am  to  go  scot-free 
and  not  to  be  punished  any  more?  "  Costello  could  hardly 
believe  his  own  ears. 

"  I  do.  I  believe  you  are  not  to  be  punished  any  more  in 
this  world  because  I  have  borne  the  punishment  for  you: 
just  as  I  believe  you  are  not  to  be  punished  in  the  world  to 
come  because  Christ  has  borne  your  punishment  for  you. 
Twice  over  have  you  been  redeemed — first  by  God  and  then 
by  man:  and  if  God  remits  punishment  because  Another 
suffered  in  your  stead,  ought  not  man  to  do  the  same  ?  Shall 
man  be  more  just  than  God?  " 

Costello  broke  down  and  sobbed  aloud.  "  Sir,  your  gen- 
erosity is  almost  more  than  I  can  bear.  When  I  think  of 
all  you  have  endured  for  me  and  how  I  have  treated  you,  I 
feel  I  am  unfit  to  live!  " 

Gabriel  laid  his  hand  upon  the  other's  shoulder.  "  Ah ! 
now  we  are  coming  to  the  point  of  the  whole  matter.  If 
you  feel  like  this  when  you  think  of  what  I  have  done  for 
you,  how  do  you  feel  when  you  think  of  what  my  Master  has 
done  for  you?  For  your  sake  I  spent  fourteen  months  in 
Dartmoor  prison:  for  your  sake  He  became  obedient  unto 
death,  even  the  death  of  the  Cross.  I  endured  imprisonment 
that  you  might  be  free:  He  suffered  death  that  you  might 
live.  I  changed  places  with  you  involuntarily  and  was  pun- 
ished in  your  stead :  of  His  Own  free  will  He  took  your  sin 
upon  His  Shoulders  and  bore  the  full  chastisement  of  it, 
so  that  by  His  stripes  you  might  be  healed.  I  became  your 
surety  because  I  could  not  help  myself :  He  took  your  nature 

[345] 

i 


THE    SUBJECTION 

upon  Him  and  bore  away  the  guilt  of  your  sin,  because  He 
loved  you  and  gave  Himself  for  you.  Therefore  if  you  are 
grateful  to  me,  what  must  you  be  to' Him?" 

"  A  thousand  times  more  so.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life 
I  begin  to  realise  what  Christ  has  done  for  me:  and  it  is 
you  who  have  made  me  understand  this  by  what  you  have 
done  for  me." 

"  By  the  love  of  the  brother  whom  you  have  seen,  you 
are  learning  something  of  the  love  of  the  God  Whom  you 
have  not  seen,"  said  Gabriel :  "  it  is  by  no  means  a  new 
method  of  gaining  divine  knowledge." 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  say,  sir,  that  you  can  forgive  me 
for  all  that  I  have  made  you  suffer  at  my  hands?  " 

"  I  have  not  suffered  for  you  a  thousandth  part  of  what 
my  Master  has  suffered  for  you :  and  as  He  forgives  you,  so 
I  forgive." 

"  I  can  never  thank  you,  sir,  never!  So  it  is  no  use  trying 
to  do  so.  And  do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  am  free  to  go 
where  I  will  and  do  what  I  like?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  Gabriel,  with  his  old  whimsical 
smile.  "  I  never  said  anything  of  the  sort.  You  are  no 
longer  your  own — you  are  bought  with  a  price.  Twice  over 
you  have  been  redeemed,  and  now  you  belong  first  to  Christ 
and  then  to  me." 

The  criminal  fell  on  his  knees  before  the  priest,  and  seiz- 
ing his  hand  kissed  it.  "  I  will  be  your  servant  to  my  life's 
end,"  he  cried :  "  whatever  you  tell  me  to  do  I  will  do  it." 

"  This  is  what  I  tell  you  to  do :  and  though  I  speak  of 
myself  I  believe  that  I  also  have  the  Spirit  of  God.  You 
shall  go  to  America  as  you  had  arranged,  and  in  the  berth 
you  have  already  taken:  and  when  you  land  you  shall  go 
straight  to  a  Missionary  Training  College,  the  head  of  which 

[346] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

is  a  friend  of  mine  to  whom  I  will  give  you  a  letter  of  intro- 
duction: and  there  you  shall  learn  to  serve  Christ  in  the 
mission  fields." 

"  And  I  swear  that  I  will  serve  Him,  so  help  me  God!  " 
"  You  cannot  stay  in  England,  you  see,"  continued  Ga- 
briel :  "  if  you  do  the  police  will  track  you,  and  send  you 
back  to  prison.  And  I  cannot  help  believing  that  you  can 
serve  God  better  by  carrying  His  Gospel  to  the  far-off  isles 
of  the  southern  seas,  than  by  picking  oakurn  in  Dartmoor 
gaol.  Besides,"  he  added  with  a  humorous  twinkle  in  his 
eye,  "  we  have  defrauded  the  Government  of  nothing  in  that 
line:  I  have  picked  your  full  share  of  oakum,  so  the  authori- 
ties can  have  nothing  to  complain  of :  though  I  have  no  doubt 
they  would  complain  a  good  deal  if  they  only  knew." 

"  Sir,  I  will  follow  your  counsel  to  the  end  of  my  life. 
You  shall  never  regret  what  you  have  done  for  me  this 
night." 

Gabriel's  face  grew  serious  again.  "  I  shall  not  know 
how  you  requite  my  dealings  with  you:  but  Christ  will 
know  how  you  requite  His,  I  shall  probably  never  see  you 
again:  but  His  Eye  will  be  with  you  even  unto  the  end  of 
the  world.  Upon  you — and  you  alone — will  rest  the  awful 
responsibility  if  you  neglect  so  great  a  salvation.  And  now 
we  must  get  to  business  and  conclude  all  the  arrangements," 
he  added,  changing  his  tone:  "  the  day  is  breaking,  and  there 
is  no  time  to  be  lost,  as  your  ship  sails  for  America  in  a  few 
hours  from  now,  and  I  do  not  want  you  to  miss  it  and  to 
fall  once  more  into  the  hands  of  the  police:  I  would  rather 
let  you  fall  into  the  Hands  of  God  than  into  the  hands  of 
man;  and  into  His  Hands  I  commit  you,  body,  soul  and 
spirit,  from  this  time  forth  and  even  for  evermore." 

With  his  usual  efficiency  and  rapidity  Gabriel  gave  the 

[347] 


THE    SUBJECTION    OF    ISABEL    CARNABY 

future  missionary  full  instructions  as  to  the  new  life  on 
which  he  was  about  to  enter,  and  the  way  in  which  he  was 
to  set  about  it ;  and  wrote  a  letter  to  the  head  of  the  Train- 
ing College  giving  such  instructions  and  advice  regarding  the 
convict  as  he  thought  necessary.  And  then  he  put  before 
Costello  food  and  drink  and  finally  despatched  him  with  a 
blessing,  to  serve  God  according  to  his  day  and  generation. 
So  Caesar  Costello  went  on  his  way  rejoicing  because  the 
former  things  had  fled  away  for  ever  and  all  things  had 
been  made  new;  knowing  that  he  had  passed  from  death 
unto  life,  because  through  the  medium  of  the  love  of  a 
brother  he  had  learnt  something  of  the  Love  of  God. 


[348] 


EPILOGUE 

THREE  years  had  come  and  gone  since  the  events  narrated 
in  the  last  chapter. 

In  a  house  in  Prince's  Garden  a  man  and  a  woman  were 
sitting  over  their  dessert. 

"  I  can  just  finish  this  cigarette,  and  then  I  must  get 
back  to  the  House,  my  sweet,"  the  man  said. 

The  woman  rose  from  her  seat  at  the  head  of  the  table 
and  came  round  to  her  husband's  side,  perching  herself  on 
the  arm  of  his  chair.  "  It's  a  funny  thing,"  she  said  with  a 
sigh:  "a  very  funny  thing:  but  you  were  right  and  I  was 
wrong  after  all." 

He  laughed.  He  knew  how  very  remarkable  it  always 
seemed  to  her  to  find  herself  in  the  wrong.  "As  how?" 
he  asked,  putting  his  arm  round  her. 

"  Oh!  about  politics  and  things.  I  thought  you'd  smash 
up  the  party  and  ruin  the  country  when  you  got  into  the 
Cabinet:  but  you've  done  neither  the  one  nor  the  other." 

Again  the  man  laughed.  "  It  is  amazing  how  little  per- 
manent mischief  even  the  most  gifted  and  indefatigable  of 
politicians  are  able  to  accomplish.  The  mistakes  of  the 
greatest  statesmen  are  not  nearly  so  irremediable  as  they 
would  fain  believe.  The  great  forces  of  Nature  and  the 
Permanent  Staff  pursue  the  even  tenor  of  their  way  regard- 
less of  changing  Governments  or  fluctuating  parties:  and 
nothing  really  makes  much  difference." 

[349] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

"  Nothing  really  ever  does  make  much  difference  to  any- 
body," replied  the  woman :  "  except  dying  and  getting 
married." 

"  But  I  believed  that  everything  did,"  said  the  man, 
"  when  I  was  young  and  unofficial.  In  fact  in  those  far-off 
times  there  was  precious  little  that  I  did  not  believe." 

"  I  used  to  think  you  much  too  high-flown  and  ideal,  you 
know." 

"  So  I  was  when  revelling  in  the  unsubstantial  pageants 
of  private  membership  or  irresponsible  office.  But  then  the 
Cabinet  '  like  an  angel  came,  and  whipp'd  the  offending 
Adam  out  of  me.'  In  my  unofficial  and  unregenerate  days 
I  aimed  at  the  stars." 

"  And  a  very  good  thing,  too,  Paul !  It  is  the  people  who 
aim  at  the  stars  that  succeed  in  sweeping  their  own  chimneys: 
and  the  people  who  set  out  to  ascend  the  Jungfrau,  that 
manage  to  get  to  the  top  of  Netting  Hill.  Now  stupid 
sensible  people — like  myself  and  Wrexham  for  instance — 
only  aim  at  the  chimneys,  and  so  do  nothing  better  than  ring 
the  front  door-bell:  we  set  out  for  Netting  Hill,  and  get  no 
further  than  the  Albert  Memorial.  Which  things  are  an 
allegory." 

"  It  is  quite  true — as  a  distinguished  statesman  once 
remarked — that  politics  is  the  science  of  the  second-best." 

"  I  suppose,  when  you  come  to  that,  most  things  in  this 
world  are." 

The  man's  arm  tightened  round  her:  "Except  one,"  he 
said :  "  and  the  reality  of  that  exceeds  the  wildest  dreams  of 
the  maddest  idealist." 

His  wife  nestled  up  to  him:  "  You  are  a  very  successful 
man,  Paul,  and  have  had  a  good  many  cups  of  happiness  put 
to  your  lips :  the  cup  of  success,  and  the  cup  of  fame,  and  the 

[350] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

cup  of  power,  and  the  cup  of  rank,  and  in  fact  quite  a  tray- 
f ul  of  them.    Which  do  you  like  best  of  all  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  comparison,  my  darling,"  he  answered  with 
a  laugh  of  absolute  content:  "of  all  the  cups  of  happiness 
that  have  been  put  to  my  lips  I  have  found  none  to  compare 
with  the  falsely  so-called  '  weaker  vessel ' ;  so,  with  your 
permission,  I  will  just  put  my  lips  to  it  again."  And  hr 
kissed  her  with  all  the  rapture  of  a  lover. 

THE   SCENE    CHANGES 

On  the  lawn  in  front  of  an  old-fashioned  manor-house  i 
man  and  two  women  were  having  tea.  A  small  girl  of  two 
years  old  was  trotting  about  from  one  to  the  other,  while  a 
baby-boy  lay  asleep  in  a  perambulator. 

"  I  consider  that  it  is  almost  time  for  Lisa  to  have  a. 
thimble  of  her  own,"  remarked  the  elder  of  the  women: 
"  when  I  was  two  and  a  half  years  of  age  I  could  sew  quite 
neatly:  and  at  three  I  joined  the  village  Dorcas-meeting." 

"  By  Jove,  mother,  but  you  were  an  extra  forward  one !  " 
exclaimed  the  man,  who  was  lying  full-length  on  the  grass 
at  his  wife's  feet,  his  tea-cup  in  a  position  of  imminent  dan- 
ger at  his  elbow.  "  You  can't  expect  the  poor  little  kiddie 
to  be  as  clever  as  her  grandmother." 

"  That,  Charles,  is  what  I  do  expect.  The  training  of  a 
child  cannot  begin  too  early.  When  I  was  four  I  read  The 
Falrchild  Family  aloud  to  my  dear  mother;  and  at  five  I 
was  conversant  with  all  the  information  contained  in  Near 
Home  and  Far  Off" 

Lisa's  mother  smiled  languidly.  "  If  you  gave  her  a  thim- 
ble now  she  would  probably  swallow  it :  and  I  have  always 
understood  that  thimbles  are  most  indigestible." 

[351] 


THE   SUBJECTION 

But  the  old  lady  shook  her  head.  "  I  never  swallowed 
anything  at  that  age:  nor  did  my  sister  Maria." 

A  shout  of  laughter  emanated  from  the  figure  on  the 
grass :  his  sense  of  humour  had  ever  been  elemental.  "  Great 
Scott!  mother,  you  must  have  been  wonderful  children.  Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  and  aunt  Maria  never  had 
anything  to  eat  or  drink  ?  " 

"  Charles,  do  not  be  ribald.  What  I  mean  is  that  my 
sister  Maria  and  I  never  swallowed  anything  that  was  not 
intended  for  swallowing:  we  were  too  well-trained." 

"  Well,  it  strikes  me  that  you  swallowed  a  good  deal 
one  way  or  another  if  you  were  dosed  with  Near  Home  and 
Far  Off,  to  say  nothing  of  The  Fairchild  Family.  Eh, 
mother?" 

"  Charles,  I  cannot  permit  you  to  be  irreverent :  it  is  an 
atrocious  habit  for  the  young,  and  I  beg  you  will  not  allow 
yourself  to  fall  into  it." 

The  man  did  not  reply  to  his  mother,  but  he  looked  up 
into  his  wife's  dark  eyes  and  smiled;  and  she  smiled  back, 
stroking  his  yellow  hair  as  she  did  so.  As  they  were  both 
still  on  the  sunny  side  of  thirty,  it  struck  them  as  distinctly 
funny  to  be  referred  to  as  "  the  young."  Ten  years  later 
they  would  have  accepted  as  a  compliment  what  they  now 
treated  as  a  joke.  But  that  is  the  rule  of  life:  the  sarcasms 
of  today  are  the  compliments  of  tomorrow,  and  yesterday's 
sneers  are  today's  plaudits.  So  we  learn  as  we  grow  older 
to  be  thankful  for  small  mercies. 

"  As  to  the  volumes  you  mention,"  continued  the  elder 
lady,  quite  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  she  was  affording 
much  amusement  to  her  juniors:  "I  derived  from  them 
immense  benefit.  In  fact  all  my  present  knowledge  of 
Thibet  I  owe  to  the  reading  of  Far  Off,  or  Asia  Described" 

[352] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 

"  So  I  can  believe,"  murmured  her  daughter-in-law.  But 
fortunately  nobody  heard  her. 

At  this  moment  the  youthful  Lisa  made  a  gallant  attempt 
to  sit  down  upon  her  father's  tea-cup;  and  was  only  saved 
from  doing  so  by  the  prompt  action  of  that  parent  himself. 
But  her  grandmother  went  on  undisturbed: 

"  As  soon  as  she  is  old  enough  to  understand  it,  I  shall 
read  portions  of  The  Fairchild  Family  aloud  to  Lisa;  as  I 
know  no  book  more  fitted  to  open  the  eyes  of  a  child  to  good 
sound  Protestant  doctrine." 

"  By  Jove,  it  does  that !  "  exclaimed  her  son,  who  had 
been  himself  brought  up  on  the  work  in  question :  "  and 
gives  you  the  shivers  sometimes  into  the  bargain." 

"  If  you  can  make  her  as  good  a  woman  as  you  are,"  said 
the  younger  woman,  "  I  shall  be  thankful  for  you  to  read 
to  her  anything  that  you  choose." 

"  Thank  you,  Fabia.  And  if  she  is  as  good  a  daughter 
to  you  as  you  have  been  a  daughter-in-law  to  me,  you  will 
have  indeedx  cause  for  thankfulness.  And  I  shall  probably 
find  my  old  copies  of  Near  Home  and  Far  Off,  and  read 
those  to  her  as  well,  as  I  do  not  approve  of  modern  books 
of  travel:  they  give  young  people  such  erroneous  ideas.  I 
read  one  only  yesterday  which  said  that  the  South  Pole  was 
actually  colder  than  the  North  Pole,  and  that  is  obviously 
absurd ;  as  the  North  must  in  the  course  of  Nature  be  always 
colder  than  the  South.  I  consider  that  these  modern  habits 
of  proving  that  black  is  white,  and  hot  is  cold,  and  North  is 
South  are  extremely  unsettling  to  the  young,  and  frequently 
lead  to  atheism." 


[353] 


THE    SUBJECTION 


ONCE   MORE   THE   SCENE    CHANGES 

In  a  large  church  in  the  East  End  of  London  the  newly- 
appointed  Bishop  of  Shoreditch  was  preaching  to  a  vast  con- 
gregation. He  held  them  spell-bound,  for  he  was  one  of 
the  most  striking  preachers  of  his  day;  a  man  who  had 
already  risen  to  high  office  in  his  Church,  and  who  was 
destined  and  fitted  to  rise  still  higher;  a  man  who  had  been 
as  a  beacon  set  on  a  hill  to  countless  struggling  Christians, 
and  who,  being  endowed  with  wisdom  from  on  high,  had 
succeeded  in  bringing  many  to  righteousness. 

In  one  of  the  foremost  pews  in  the  church,  two  women 
and  a  little  boy  were  sitting,  drinking  in  every  word  of  the 
preacher's  discourse,  and  rilled  with  pride  and  exultation 
because  of  him:  for  to  them  he  had  been  respectively  the 
most  dutiful  of  sons,  the  most  devoted  of  husbands,  the  most 
loving  of  fathers.  And  now  they  rejoiced  that  at  last  he 
was  entering  into  the  fruits  of  his  labours.  At  least  the  two 
women  rejoiced :  the  boy  was  as  yet  too  young  to  understand 
anything  save  that  all  these  hundreds  of  people  were  listening 
to  his  father,  and  that  he  ought  to  be  proud  indeed  of  being 
the  son  of  so  great  a  preacher. 

As  for  the  preacher  himself,  the  Lord  had  brought  him 
out  of  prison  that  he  might  praise  His  Name,  also  the  Lord 
had  given  him  twice  as  much  as  he  had  before.  He  had 
gone  through  much  tribulation,  but  his  faith  in  God  had 
never  faltered ;  and  now  he  saw  the  end  of  the  Lord :  that 
the  Lord  is  very  pitiful  and  of  tender  mercy.  He  forgot 
his  misery,  and  remembered  it  only  as  waters  that  pass  away : 
for  at  last  the  lines  had  fallen  to  him  in  pleasant  places,  and 
he  had  a  goodly  heritage. 

[354] 


OF   ISABEL   CARNABY 


FOR     THE     THIRD     AND     LAST     TIME     THE     SCENE 
CHANGES 

Upon  the  shores  of  an  island  in  the  southern  seas  three 
men — one  white  and  two  black — were  walking  up  and  down 
engaged  in  earnest  conversation.  The  white  man  was  a 
newly-ordained  missionary  who  had  but  recently  come  to 
these  parts,  but  who  had  already  made  his  mark  there  by 
the  untiring  zeal  and  unflagging  enthusiasm  which  he  dis- 
played in  his  Master's  service:  the  blacks  were  two  native 
priests,  whose  sacerdotal  pride  and  love  of  power  were  up 
in  arms  against  the  new  faith  which  was  gradually  sapping 
their  influence  for  evil,  and  supplanting  their  religion  of 
hate  and  cruelty  by  the  worship  of  the  God  of  Love. 

The  Bishop  of  that  district  had  come  on  a  visit  to  this 
particular  island  in  response  to  an  invitation  from  the  chief 
of  the  savage  tribe  which  dwelt  there — a  man  considerably 
in  advance  of  his  race  and  people,  who  was  anxious  to  learn 
and  to  embrace  the  doctrines  of  Christianity:  the  young 
Anglican  had  rowed  the  Bishop  over  from  the  missionary 
station,  and  was  now  waiting — his  boat  securely  stranded  on 
the  beach — while  the  Bishop  and  the  chief  held  private  con- 
verse together  in  the  hut  of  the  latter,  some  few  hundred 
yards  away. 

It  was  the  opportunity  of  the  native  priests :  and  they  took 
it.  They  were  well  aware  that  the  man  before  them  was 
one  of  the  most  ardent  and  untiring  of  all  the  hated  band  of 
missionaries:  and  they  believed  that  if  he  were  once  out  of 
the  way,  his  weaker  and  less  impressive  brethren  would  soon 
follow:  and  that  thus  their  island  would  once  more  be  left 
secure  in  the  fetters  of  its  former  heathenism.  Of  the  Bishop 

[355] 


THE    SUBJECTION 

they  did  not  take  much  account.  He  was  growing  old ; 
and  his  sphere  of  work  was  so  wide  that  he  could  visit  each 
particular  island  but  rarely.  But  this  man  was  in  the  prime 
of  life — not  much  over  thirty — and  was  distinguished  by 
considerable  personal  beauty:  moreover  his  labours  were 
confined  to  this  particular  corner  of  his  Master's  vineyard ; 
and  he  was  seen  frequently  in  this  island,  preaching  the 
Gospel  which  the  native  priests  hated  and  promulgating  the 
religion  which  they  regarded  with  dread. 

At  first  the  two  natives  approached  him  in  a  friendly  and 
commercial  spirit,  walking  up  and  down  the  shore  with  him 
arm-in-arm,  and  endeavouring  by  means  of  costly  presents 
to  bribe  him  to  go  away  and  trouble  them  no  more.  But  to 
their  surprise  he  refused,  and  would  have  none  of  their 
skins  and  furs  and  feathers. 

Then  they  became  angry  and  threatened  him:  told  him 
that  unless  he  would  give  his  word  as  a  white  man — that 
word  which  could  never  be  broken — that  he  would  not  visit 
their  island  again,  nor  attempt  further  to  convert  its  chief 
to  Christianity,  they  would  kill  him  then  and  there.  And 
still  he  smiled  his  serene  smile,  and  bade  them  hear  in  their 
own  tongue  some  of  the  wonderful  works  of  God. 

And  then  as  they  looked  steadfastly  on  him  they  saw  his 
face  as  it  had  been  the  face  of  an  angel :  and  the  devils  that 
were  in  them  were  filled  with  that  hatred  which  the  sons  of 
darkness  ever  feel  towards  the  children  of  light — the  hatred 
which  persecuted  Job  and  stoned  Stephen  and  crucified  the 
Christ.  So  the  two  savages  fell  upon  the  European  and 
slew  him  then  and  there :  and  then  fled  into  the  dense  forest 
to  hide  themselves,  until  the  wrath  of  their  chieftain  (on 
finding  that  his  people  had  murdered  one  of  his  beloved  mis- 
sionaries) should  be  overpast. 

[356] 


OF   ISABEL  CARNABY 

When  the  visitation  of  the  Bishop  was  ended  and  he 
returned  to  his  boat,  he  found  the  young  missionary  lying 
dead  upon  the  shore,  pierced  through  with  many  arrows: 
for  the  life  which  was  twice  redeemed — first  by  the  Master 
Himself  and  then  by  the  Master's  servant — had  been  freely 
and  willingly  given  up  to  God. 


THE  END 


[357] 


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Handy  Andy.     BY  SAMUEL  LOVER. 

Hans  of  Iceland.     BY  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Hannibal,  the  Carthaginian,  Life  of. 
BY  THOMAS  ARNOLD,  M.  A, 

Hardy  Norseman,  A.    BY  EDNA  LYALL. 

Harold.     BY  BULWER-LYTTON. 

Harry  Lorrequer.    BY  CHARLES  LEVER. 

Heart  of  Midlothian.  BY  SIR  WALTER 
SCOTT. 

Heir  of  Redclyffe.     BY  CHARLETTE  M. 

YONGE. 

Hemans'  Poems.  BY  MRS.  FELICIA. 
HEMANS. 

Henry  Esmond.  BY  WM.  M.  THACK- 
ERAY. 

Henry,  Patrick,  Life  of.     BY  WILLIAM 

WlRT. 

Her  Dearest  Foe.  BY  MRS.  ALEXAN- 
DER. 

Hereward.     BY  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 
Heriot's  Choice.     BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 
Heroes     and      Hero- Worship.        BY 

THOMAS  CARLYLE. 
Hiawatha.     (WITH  NOTES.)     BY  H.  W. 

LONGFELLOW. 
Hidden  Hand,  The.    (COMPLETE.)  BY 

MRS.  E.  D.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH. 
History    »f    a    Crime.       BY    VICTOR 

HUGO. 
History  of  Civilization  in  Europe.     BY 

M.  GUIZOT. 
Holmes'  Poems.  (  EARLY)  BY  OLIVER 

WENDELL  HOLMES. 
Holy     Roman    Empire.     BY    JAMES 

BRYCE. 
Homestead  on  the  Hillside.     BY  MARY 

J.  HOLMES. 

Hood's  Poems.     BY  THOMAS  HOOD. 
House    of    the     Seven    Gables.     BY 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 
Hunchback     of     Notre     Dame.    BY 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

Hypatia.     BY  CHARLES  KINGSLBY. 
Hyperion.     BY    HENRY    WADSWORTH 

LONGFELLOW. 

Iceland  Fisherman,     BY  PIERRB  LOTI. 
Idle  Thoughts  of  an  Idle  Fellow.     BY 

JEROMB  K.  JEROME. 
Iliad,     POPE'S  TRANSLATION. 
Inez.     BY  AUGUSTA  J.  EVANS. 
Ingelow's  Poems.     BY  JEAN  INGELOW. 
Initials.     BY    THE    BARONESS    TAUT- 

PHOEUS 
Intellectual     Life.     BY     PHILIP     G. 

HAMERTON. 
In   the    Counsellor's    House.     BY    E. 

MARLITT. 
In     the     Golden     Days.     BY     EDNA 

LYALL. 
In    the    Heart    of    the    Storm.     BY 

MAXWELL  GRAY 

In  the  Schiilingscourt.     BY  E.  MAR- 
LITT. 
IshmaeL     (COMPLETE)     BY  MRS.   E. 

D.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH. 
It  Is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend.     BY 

CHARLES  READS 


Ivanhoe.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Jane  Eyre.     BY  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE. 
Jefferson,     Thomas,      Life      of.     BY 

SAMUEL  M.  SCHMUCKER,  LL.D. 
Joan    of    Arct    Life    of.    BY    JULES 

MlCHELET. 

John  Halifax,  Gentleman.     BY   Miss 

MULOCK. 
Jones,  John  Paul,  Life  of.     BY  JAMES 

OTIS. 
Joseph     Balsamo.     BY     ALEXANDRB 

DUMAS. 
Josephine,  Empress  of  France,  Life  of. 

BY  FREDERICK  A,  OBER, 
Keats'  Poems.     BY  JOHN  KEATS. 
Kenilworth.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Kidnapped.     BY  R.  L.  STEVENSON. 
King  Arthur  and  His  Noble  Knights. 

BY  MARY  MACLEOD. 
Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York. 

BY  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 
Knight  Errant.     BY  EDNA  LYALL. 
Koran.    TRANSLATED     BY     GEORGB 

SALE. 
Lady  of  the  Lake.     (WITH  NOTES.)     BY 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Lady  with  the  Rubies.     BY  E.  MAR- 

LITT. 

Lafayette,  Marquis  de.  Life  of.  BY 
P.  C.  HEADLBY. 

Lalla  Rookh.  (WITH  NOTES.)  BY 
THOMAS  MOORE. 

Lamplighter.  BY  MARIA  S.  CUM- 
MINS. 

Last  Days  of  Pompeii.  BY  BULWER- 
LYTTON. 

Last  of  the  Barons.  BY  BULWER- 
LYTTON. 

Last  of  the  Mohicans.  BY  JAMES 
FENIMORB  COOPER. 

Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel.  (WITH 
NOTES.)  BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

Lee,  General  Robert  E.,  Life  of.  BY 
G.  MERCER  ADAM. 

Lena  Rivers.     BY  MARY  J.  HOLMES. 

Life  of  Christ  BY  FREDERICK.  W. 
FARRAR. 

Life  of  Jesus.     BY  ERNEST  REN  AN. 

Light  of  Asia.  BY  SIR  EDWIS 
ARNOLD 

Light  That  Failed.  BY  RUDYARD 
KIPLING. 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  Life  of.  BY 
HENRY  KETCHAM. 

Lincoln's  Speeches.  SELECTED  AND 
EDITED  BY  G.  MERCER  ADAM. 

Literature  and  Dogma.  BY  MATTHEW 
ARNOLD 

Little  Dorrit.     BY  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

Little  Minister.     BY  JAMES  M.  BARRJE. 

Livingstone,  David,  Life  of.  BY 
THOMAS  HUGHES 

Longfellow's  Poems.  (EARLY  )  Bt 
HENRY  \V  LONGFELLOW 

Lorna  Doone.     BY  R.  D.  BLACKMORE. 

Louise  de  la  Valliere.  BY  ALEXANDRB 
DUMAS. 

Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long.  BY 
CHARLES  READS. 


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Lowell's  Poems.     (EARLY.)  BY  JAMES 

RUSSELL  LOWELL. 
Lucile.     BY  OWEN  MEREDITH. 
Macaria.     BY  AUGUSTA  J.  EVANS. 
Macaulay's  Literary  Essays.     BY  T.  B. 

MACAUI.AY. 
Macaulay's  Poems.     BY  THOMAS  BAB- 

INGTON  MACAULAY. 
Madame    Therese.     BY    ERCKMANN- 

CHATRIAN. 

Maggie  Miller.  BY  MARY  J.  HOLMES. 
Magic  Skin.  BY  HONORB  DE  BALZAC. 
Mahomet,  Life  of.  BY  WASHINGTON 

IRVING. 
Makers   of   Florence.     BY  MRS.  OLI- 

PHANT. 

Makers    of    Venice.     BY    MRS.    OLI- 

PHANT. 

Man  and  Wife.  BY  WILKIE  COLLINS. 
Man  in  the  Iron  Mask.  BY  ALEXAN- 

DRE  DUMAS. 

Marble  Faun.     BY  NATHANIEL  HAW- 
THORNE. 
Marguerite  de  la  Valois.     BY  ALEX- 

ANDRE    DUMAS. 

Marian  Grey.     BY  MARY  J.  HOLMES. 
Marius,  The  Epicurian.     BY  WALTER 

PATER. 
Marmion.     (WITH    NOTES.)     BY    SIR 

WALTER  SCOTT. 
Marquis      of      Lossie.     BY      GEORGE 

MACDONALD. 
Martin     Chuzzlewit,       BY     CHARLES 

DICKENS. 
Mary,    Queen  of  Scots,   Life   of.     BY 

P.  C.  HEADLEY. 

Mary  St.  John.  BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 
Master  of  Ballantrae,  The.  BY.  R.  L. 

STEVENSON. 
Masterman  Ready.     BY  CAPTAIN  MAR- 

RYATT. 

Meadow  Brook.  BY  MARY  J.  HOLMES. 
Meditations  of  Marcus  Aurelius. 

TRANSLATED  BY  GEORGE  LONG. 
Memoirs  of  a  Physician.     BY  ALEXAN- 

DRE  DUMAS. 

Merle's  Crusade.     BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 
Micah  Clarke.     BY  A.  CONAN  DOLYE. 
Michael  Strogoff.     BY  JULES  VERNE. 
Middlemarch.     BY  GEORGE   ELIOT. 
Midshipman  Easy.     BY  CAPTAIN  MAR- 

RYATT 

Mildred.     BY  MARY  J.  HOLMES. 
MiHbank.     BY  MARY  J    HOLMES. 
Mill  on  the  Floss.     BY  GEORGE  ELIOT. 
Milton's  Poems.     BY  JOHN  MILTON. 
Mine  Own  People.     BYRUDYARDK.IP- 

LING. 
Minister's  Wooing,  The.     BY  HARRIET 

BEECHER  STOWE. 

Monastery.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Moonstone.     BY   WILKIE   COLLINS. 
Moore's  Poems.     BY  THOMAS  MOORE 
Mosses    from    an     Old     Manse.     BY 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 
Murders    in    the    Rue    Morgue.     BY 

EDGAR  ALLEN  POE. 
Mysterious  Island.     BY  JULES  VERNE. 
Hapoleon  Bonaparte,  Life  of.    BY  P. 

C.  HEADLBY. 


Napoleon  and  His   Marshals.     BY  J. 

T.  HEADLEY. 
Natural  Law  in  the  Spiritual  World. 

BY  HENRY  DRUMMOND. 
Narrative  of  Arthur  Gordon  Pym.     BY 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE. 
Nature,  Addresses  and  Lectures.     BY 

R.  W.  EMERSON. 
Nellie's     Memories.     BY     ROSA      N. 

CAREY. 
Nelson,  Admiral  Horatio,  Life  of.     Bt 

ROBERT  SOUTHEY. 

Newcomes.     BY  WILLIAM  M.  THACK- 
ERAY. 
Nicholas  Nickleby.     BY  CHAS.   DICK 

ENS. 

Ninety-Three.     BY  VICTOR  HUGO. 
Not  Like  Other  Girls.     BY  ROSA  N. 

CAREY. 

Odyssey.     POPE'S  TRANSLATION. 
Old    Curiosity    Shop.     BY    CHARLES 

DICKENS. 
Old  Mam'selle's  Secret.     BY  E.  MAR 

LITT. 

Old     Mortality.     BY     SIR     WALTER 

SCOTT. 
Old   Myddleton's   Money.     BY    MARY 

CECIL  HAY. 

Oliver  Twist.     BY  CHAS.  DICKENS. 
Only   the    Governess.     BY    ROSA    N. 

CAREY. 
On     the     Heights.     BY     BERTHOLD 

AUERBACH. 

Oregon  TraiL  BY  FRANCIS  PARK- 
MAN. 

Origin  of  Species.  BY  CHARLES 
DARWIN. 

Other  Worlds  than  Ours.  BY  RICH- 
ARD PROCTOR. 

Our  Bessie.     BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 

Our  Mutual  Friend.  BY  CHARLES 
DICKENS. 

Outre-Mer.     BY  H.  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

Owl's  Nest.     BY  E.  MARLITT. 

Page  of  the  Duke  of  Savoy.  BY 
ALEXANDRE  DUMAS. 

Pair  of  Blue  Eyes.  BY  THOMAS 
HARDY. 

Pan    Michael      BY    HENRYK    SIEN- 

KIEWICZ. 

Past   and   Present.     BY    THOS.    CAR- 

LYLE. 

Pathfinder.  BY  JAMES  FENIKORI 
COOPER. 

Paul  and  Virginia.  BY  B.  DE  ST 
PIERRE. 

Pendennis.  History  of.  BY  WM.  M. 
THACKERAY. 

Penn,  William,  Life  of.  BY  W.  HEP- 
WORTH  DlXON. 

Pere  Goriot.     BY  HONORS  DE  BALZAC. 

Peter,  the  Great,  Life  of.  BY  JOHN- 
BARROW. 

Peveril  of  the  Peak.  BY  SIR  WALTER 
SCOTT. 

Phantom  Rickshaw,  The.  BY  Rur>- 
YARD  KIPLING. 

Philip  II.  of  Spam,  Life  of.  BY  MAR- 
TIN A.  S.  HUME. 

Picciola.     BY  X.  B.  SAINTINE. 


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Pickwick  Papers.  BY  CHARLES  DICK- 
ENS. 

Pilgrim's  Progress.    BY  JOHN  BUNYAN. 

Pillar  of  Fire.  BY  REV.  J.  H.  IN  GRA- 
HAM. 

Pilot.     BY  JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER. 

Pioneers.  BY  JAMES  FENIMORE 
COOPER. 

Pirate.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

Plain  Tales  from  the  Hills.  BY  RUD- 
YARD  KIPLING. 

Plato's  Dialogues.  TRANSLATED  BY  J. 
WRIGHT,  M.  A. 

Pleasures    of    Life.     BY    SIR    JOHN 

LUBBOCK. 

Poe's  Poems.     BY  EDGAR  A.  POE. 

Pope's  Poems.     BY  ALEXANDER  POPE. 

Prairie.     BY  JAMES  F.  COOPER. 

Pride  and  Prejudice.  BY  JANE  AUS- 
TEN. 

Prince  of  the  House  of  David.  BY 
REV.  J.  H.  INGRAHAM. 

Princess  of  the  Moor.     BY  E.  MARLITT. 

Princess  of  Thule.  BY  WILLIAM 
BLACK. 

Procter's  Poems.  BY  ADELAIDE  PROC- 
TOR. 

Professor  at  the  Breakfast  Table.  BY 
OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 

Professor.     BY    CHARLOTTE    BRONTE. 

Prue  and  I.  BY  GEORGE  WILLIAM 
CURTIS. 

Put  Yourself  in  His  Place.  BY  CHAS. 
READE. 

Putnam,  General  Israel,  Life  of  BY 
GEORGE  CANNING  HILL. 

Queen  Hortense.  BY  LOUISA  MUHL- 
BACH. 

8ueenie's  Whim.     By  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 
ueen's    Necklace.     BY    ALEXANDRE 

DUMAS. 
Quentin  Durward.     BY  SIR  WALTER 

SCOTT. 
Rasselas,    History    of.     BY    SAMUEL 

JOHNSON. 

Redgauntlet.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Red    Rover.     BY    JAMES    FENIMORE 

COOPER. 
Regent's  Daughter.     BY  ALEXANDRE 

DUMAS. 

Reign  of  Law.     BY  DUKE  OP  ARGYLE. 
Representative      Men.       BY      RALPH 

WALDO  EMERSON. 
Republic   of  Plato.    TRANSLATED    BY 

DAVIES  AND  VAUGHAN. 
Return   of  the   Native.     BY  THOMAS 

HARDY. 

Reveries  of  a  Bachelor.     BY  IK  MAR- 
VEL. 
Reynard  the  Fox.    EDITED  BY  JOSEPH 

JACOBS. 

Rienzi.     BY  BULWER-LYTTON. 
Richelieu,     Cardinal,     Life     of.     BY 

RICHARD  LODGE. 

Robinson  Crusoe.     BY  DANIEL  DEFOE. 
Rob  Roy.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Romance  of  Natural  History.     BY  P. 

H.  GOSSE. 
Romance  of  Two  Worlds.     BY  MARIE 

CORBLU- 


Romola.     BY  GEORGE  ELIOT. 
Rory  O'More.     BY  SAMUEL   LOVER. 
Rose  Mather.     BY  MARY  J.  HOLIES. 
Rossetti's  Poems.     BY  GABRIEL  DANTB 

ROSSETTT. 
Royal     Edinburgh.     BY     MRS.     OLI- 

PHANT. 

Rutledge.     BY  MIRIAN  COLES  HARRIS. 
Saint  MichaeL     BY  E.  WERNER. 
Samantha    at    Saratoga.     BY    JOSIAH 

ALLER'S    WIFE.     (MARIETTA    HOL- 

LEY.) 
Sartor   Resartus.     BY    THOMAS    CAR- 

LYLE. 

Scarlet  Letter.     BY  NATHANIEL  HAW- 

HORNE. 

Schonberg-Cotta    Family.     BY    MRS. 

ANDREW  CHARLES. 
Schopenhauer's  Essays.     TRANSLATED 

BY  T.  B.  SAUNDERS. 
Scottish  Chiefs.     BY  JANE  PORTER. 
Scott's     Poems.     BY     SIR     WALTER 

SCOTT. 
Search  for  Basil  Lyndhurst.  BY 

ROSA  N.  CAREY. 
Second  Wife.     BY  E.  MARLITT. 
Seekers  After  God.     BY  F.  W.  FARRAR. 
Self-Help.     BY  SAMUEL  SMILES. 
Self-Raised.     (COMPLETE.)     BY    MRS. 

E.  D.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH. 
Seneca's  Morals. 
Sense     and     Sensibility.     BY     JANB 

AUSTEN. 
Sentimental  Journey.     BY  LAWRENCE 

STERNE. 

Sesame  and  Liiies.  BY  JOHN  RUSK.IN. 
Shakespeare's  Heroines.  BY  ANNA 

JAMESON. 
Shelley's  Poems.     BY  PERCY  BYSSHB 

SHELLEY. 

Shirley.     BY  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE. 
Sign    of    the    Four.     BY    A.  CONAN 

DOYLE. 

Silas  Marner.     BY  GEORGE  ELIOT. 
Silence  of  Dean  Maitland.     BY  MAX. 

WELL  GRAY. 

Sir  Gibbie.  BY  GEORGE  MACDONALD 
Sketch  Book.  BY  WASHINGTON  IRY 

ING. 
Smith,  Captain  John,  Life  of.     BY  W. 

GILMORE  SIMMS. 

Socrates,  Trial  and  Death  of.     TRANS- 
LATED BY  F.  J.  CHURCH,  M.  A. 
Soldiers    Three.     BY    RUDYARD    KIP- 
LING. 

Springhaven.  BY  R.  D.  BLACKMORB. 
Spy.  BY  JAMES  FENIMORE  COOPER. 
Stanley,  Henry  M.,  African  Explorer, 

Life  of.     BY  A.  MONTEFIORE. 
Story  of  an  African  Farm.     BY  OLIVB 

SCHREINER. 

Story  of  John  G.  Paton.     TOLD  FOR 

YOUNG     FOLKS.     BY     REV.     JAS. 

PATON. 
St.  Ronan's  WelL  BY  SIR  WALTER 

SCOTT. 
Study  in  Scarlet  BY  A.  CONA» 

DOYLE. 


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Surgeon's  Daughter.     BY  SIR  WALTER 

SCOTT. 

Swinburne's  Poems.     BY  A.  C.  SWIN- 
BURNE. 
Swiss    Family    Robinson.     BY    JEAN 

RUDOLPH  WYSS. 
Taking  the  Bastile.     BY  ALEXANDRE 

DUMAS. 
Tale     of     Two     Cities.     BY     CHAS. 

DICKENS. 
Tales   from   Shakespeare.     BY   CHAS. 

AND  MARY  LAMB. 
Tales  of  a  Traveller.     BY  WASHINGTON 

IRVING. 

Talisman.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Tanglewood    Tales.     BY    NATHANIEL 

HAWTHORNE. 
Tempest  and  Sunshine.     BY  MARY  J. 

HOLMES. 
Ten  Nights  in  a  Bar  Room.     BY  T.  S. 

ARTHUR. 

Tennyson's  Poems.     BY  ALFRED  TEN- 
NYSON. 
Ten    Years    Later.     BY    ALEXANDER 

DUMAS. 
Terrible     Temptation.     BY     CHARLES 

READE. 
Thaddeus     of     Warsaw.     BY     JANE 

PORTER. 

Thelma.     BY  MARIE  CORELLI. 
Thirty  Years*   War.     BY   FREDERICK. 

SCHILLER. 
Thousand    Miles    Up    the    Nile.     BY 

AMELIA  B.  EDWARDS. 
Three    Guardsmen.     BY    ALEXANDRE 

DUMAS. 
Three  Men  in  a  Boat     BY  JEROME  K. 

JEROME. 

Thrift.     BY  SAMUEL  SMILES. 
Throne    of   David.     BY    REV.    J.    H. 

INGRAHAM. 

Tjilers  of  the  Sea.     BY  VICTOR  HUGO 
Tom  Brown  at  Oxford.     BY  THOMAS 

HUGHES. 
Tom     Brown's     School     Days.     BY 

THOS.  HUGHES. 
Tom  Burke  of  "Ours."    BY  CHARLES 

LEVER. 
Tour  of  the  World  in  Eighty  Days. 

BY  JULES  VERNE. 
Treasure  Island.     BY  ROBERT  Louis 

STEVENSON. 
Twenty  Thousand  Leagues  Under  the 

Sea.     BY  JULES  VERNE. 
Twenty  Years  After.     BY  ALEXANDRE 

DUMAS. 
Twice    Told    Tales.     BY    NATHANIEL 

HAWTHORNE. 
Two  Admirals.     BY  JAMES  FENIMORE 

COOPER. 

Two  Dianas.     BY  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS. 
Two  Years  Before  the  Mast.     BY  R.  H. 

DANA,  Jr. 

Uarda.     BY  GEORGE  EBERS. 
Uncle  Max.     BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 
Uncle    Tom's    Cabin.     BY    HARRIET 

BEECHER  STOWB. 
Under  Two  Flags.    BY  "OuiDA." 


Utopia.     BY  SIR  THOMAS  MORE. 

Vanity  Fair.     BY  WM.  M.  THACKERAY. 

Vendetta.     BY  MARIE  CORELLI. 

Vespucius,  Americus,  Life  and  Voyages. 
BY  C.  EDWARDS  LESTER. 

Vicar  of  Wakefield.  BY  OLIVER 
GOLDSMITH. 

Vicomte  de  Bragelonne.  BY  ALEX- 
ANDRE  DUMAS. 

Views  A-Foot.     BY  BAYARD  TAYLOR, 

Villette.     BY  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE. 

Virginians.     BY  WM.  M.  THACKERAY. 

Walden.     BY  HENRY  D.  THOREAU. 

Washington,  George,  Life  of.  BY 
JARED  SPARKS. 

Washington  and  His  Generals.  BY  J. 
T.  HEADLEY. 

Water  Babies.  BY  CHARLES  KINGS- 
LEY. 

Water  Witch.  BY  JAMES  FENI- 
MORE COOPER. 

Waverly.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

Webster,  Daniel,  Life  of.  BY  SAMUEL 
M.  SCHMUCKER,  LL.D. 

Webster's  Speeches.  (SELECTED.) 
BY  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

Wee  Wifie.     BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 

Westward  Ho!  BY  CHARLES  KINGS- 
LEY. 

We  Two.     BY  EDNA  LYALL. 

What's  Mine's  Mine.  BY  GEORGE 
MACDONALD. 

When  a  Man's  Single.  BY  J.  M. 
BARRIE. 

White  Company.  BY  A.  CONAN 
DOYLE. 

Whites  and  the  Blues.  BY  ALEX- 
ANDRE  DUMAS. 

Whittier's  Poems.  (EARLY.)  BY  JOHN 
G.  WHITTIER. 

Wide,  Wide  World.  BY  SUSAN  WAR- 
NER. 

William,  the  Conqueror,  Life  of.  BY 
EDWARD  A.  FREEMAN,  LL.D. 

William,  the  Silent,  Life  of.  BY 
FREDERICK  HARRISON. 

Willy  Reilly.  BY  WILLIAM  CARLE- 
TON. 

Window  in  Thrums.     BY  J.  M.  BARRIE 

Wing  and  Wing.  BY  JAMES  FENI- 
MORE COOPER. 

Wolsey,  Cardinal,  Life  of.  BY  MAN- 
DELL  CREIGHTON. 

Woman  in  White.  BY  WILKIE  COL- 
LINS. 

Won  by  Waiting.     BY  EDNA  LYALL. 

Wonder  Book.  FOR  BOYS  AND 
GIRLS.  BY  NATHANIEL  HAW- 
THORNE. 

Woodstock.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

Wooed  and  Married.  BY  ROSA  N. 
CAREY. 

Wooing  O't     BY  MRS.  ALEXANDER. 

Wordsworth's  Poems.  BY  WILLIAM 
WORDSWORTH. 

Wormwood.     BY  MARIE  CORELL:. 

Wreck  of  the  Grosvenor.  BY  W. 
CLARK  RUSSELL. 


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